


Snapshots

by staringatstars



Series: Captain Leo and those other guys [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, TMNT, TMNT/Captain America fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4561707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Dr. Erskine ever got to human trials, four baby turtles were injected with the Super Soldier serum. The result derailed the program, and changed their fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude To Winter

It was supposed to be the war to end all wars. And the Allies was supposed to win. In 1941, though, the world was at a standstill that could easily tip to either side. Dr. Abraham Erskine, a German scientist, had an idea for a serum that change the tide of the war, and every man with an army under their command wanted it. 

As an experiment, four young turtles were chosen to be injected with the serum. It was supposed to be merely a trial, a prelude to human subjects, but once injected with the Super Soldier serum, the four terrapins, within weeks, began to resemble human toddlers. Some of Dr. Erskine’s colleagues, fearing their growth and unpredictable nature, demanded that the turtles be terminated, but he refused. He saw something pure in them. He looked at them as they played and laughed, and realized that though the turtles might not have been the soldiers the Allies were hoping for, they had the potential to be the unstoppable force that ended the war.

On a whim, he named them after Renaissance artists, and as they reached physical adolescence, placed them in the care of an agent of the S.S.R. (Strategic Scientific Reserve) who went by the name, Karai Hamato.

Despite their desire to join the war effort, the turtles were sidelined after Dr. Erskine’s assassination, relegated to raising morale, with the most mature of the team, Leonardo, dubbed Captain America and sent out across the country to encourage recruitment and sell bonds, all while wearing a ridiculous red, white, and blue costume with a quickly cobbled together shield made out of cheap metal. 

“They’re making a fool out of ya, Leo,” Raphael complained once Leo’s latest performance was done and the dancing girls were out of earshot. The sound of booing could still be heard from the soldiers out front, each of them wet, tired, and angered by what they perceived as a joke, a lie that said the war would be won and they could all go home soon, when the war was never ending and more of them died every day. “We’re turtles, Leo. And we’re supposed to be soldiers, like those guys out there throwing tomatoes at you, not dancing monkeys in fancy costumes.”

Leo rubbed his neck, wondering if it would be treason to admit that he was a little tired of the song-and-dance routine, too. He looked up to see Donatello and Michelangelo hanging by their feet from the stage’s support beams, and knew somehow that they agreed with Raph. 

Heels clicked on wood, a confident gait alerting them to their supervisor and professional babysitter. As Karai approached them, Mikey detached himself from the beam, landing soundlessly on the ground with Donatello following his lead. Karai looked impressed, smiling warmly in their direction before focusing on Leo. “Those soldiers out there lost half their platoon the other day. General Philips is writing condolence letters as we speak.”

General Philips had always dismissed them as circus freaks, he set Raph’s teeth on edge with his mockery and dismissive attitude, but under all those layers of surly condescension was a good man. 

“What can we do to help?” Leo asked, knowing his brothers were chomping at the bit to see some action. “We’re trained, we’re ready-“

Karai cut in, “But you’re not tested.” 

Exasperated, Raph exclaimed, “And we’re never going to be if you don't let us out there!”

They may not have known anyone in the 107th Regiment, but they understood that the soldiers who went missing were someone’s son, someone’s brother, and losing the closest thing they’d ever had to a father had been bad enough. If there was a possibility that the enhanced bodies the serum gave them could save one man, then they deserved to be given the chance to try. 

“This has to be a unanimous decision.” Karai said, her eyes now locked on Donatello and Michelangelo. “Are you two in?”

It was all the invitation they needed. Giving each other a high-three, the two brothers nodded. “We’re with ya ‘til the end of the line, bros. Let’s get this party started!”

Tilting his head fondly towards his little brother, Donnie simply added, “What he said.”

Satisfied with their answers, a slow, almost proud smile stretched across Karai’s face. Her boys were growing up so fast. “Then I guess I better get you guys a helicopter.”

 

Baxter Stockman signed up to pilot a helicopter. What he did not sign up for was transporting four mutated turtles and their babysitter behind enemy lines. “I have a very bad feeling, Agent Hamato, that you are trying to get me killed!” A stray bullet clipped the helicopter’s side, resulting in him frantically jerking the controls so they shot twenty feet higher, hopefully out of the range of fire.

Gaze focused on the turtles as they stared with innocent excitement out the window, Karai rolled her eyes. “I asked you to drive a helicopter and you said yes. Where’s the deception in that?”

“I thought you wanted me to help deserters!”

“Well, that was your mistake. And - if I remember correctly - aiding deserters is treason.” 

"And this isn't?!"

Eventually, Stockman settled down into resentful grumbling, but he made no move to turn the plane around. While they had time, Karai made sure each of the turtles had their backpacks on, made absolutely certain that they knew how and when to pull their parachutes, and fixed Leo’s mask. The blue leather was sliding over his eyes. 

“When you come back,” she said, the words meant only for him, “I’ll teach you how to dance, okay? We’ll have time, then.”

She couldn’t see his cheeks, but she imagined they had a hint of flush as he whispered, not wanting his brothers to hear and tease him, “Do you really mean it, Karai?” And she did. If he came back safe, she’d even go to the military ball with him and all three of his brothers as her escort. Let the other soldiers gawk if they wanted to; her boys had the hearts of heroes. 

And now the world was going to know.

 

The guy looked like he’d been stuck inside a washer machine, pounded and nearly drowned. Raph shook him tentatively while Mikey worked on cutting through the leather straps around his arms and legs with a nearby scalpel. And Raph didn’t even want to think about what that was for. “Hey, buddy, you okay?”

The guy, a soldier from the 107th Infantry Regiment according to his tags, tried to focus on their faces, then croaked with a thick Brooklyn accent, “This is the weirdest hallucination I’ve had yet.”

The last strap broke and the turtles helped him off the gurney. “We’re not hallucinations, man.” Mikey said with a hint of desperation, as the man seemed to nod off again. “We’re soldiers. We’re here to save the day.”

With a small snort of disbelief, the soldier replied, “Sure, why not? I was starting to get bored of sanity, anyway.” His knees buckled, forcing Mikey and Raphael to take on more of his weight as they dragged him out into the hallway. “Ow,” he complained. “The name’s Bucky Barnes. I’m a delicate flower, so do you think you two could handle me with a little more care?”

“We could always drop you, you know. That's still an option.” Raph pointed out as he checked the hallway for any HYDRA lurking in the shadows as he spoke.

“And miss my devilishly handsome good looks and wicked sense of humor? How would the world go on?” Mikey snickered and Bucky shot him an appreciative smile. “You see? This guy gets me.”

There didn’t seem to be anyone in the hallways, which was great. It probably meant that HYDRA hadn’t been alerted yet.

_Alert to all HYDRA personel: The prisoners are escaping. I repeat, the prisoners are escaping._

Follwing the announcement, an alarm sounded, followed by red lights blinking obnoxiously on every corner. 

“Well, this is just super.” Barnes muttered under his breath. “Why don’t you guys just strap me back on the gurney? Save HYDRA the trouble.”

And Raph had had just about enough of his attitude when he noticed two soldiers armed with flamethrowers not twenty paces ahead of them. They hadn’t been alerted to the stumbling trio’s presence yet, but it was only a matter of time. He turned to see Mikey staring ahead, his mouth turned down in a grim line. “It’s okay, Raph,” he assured him, “I got this.”

Detaching himself from Bucky, Michelangelo crept ahead. Something approaching fear crept into the soldier’s eyes as he watched him go, and he turned on the only remaining turtle at his side, furiously whispering, “I don’t care anymore if you two are real or not. You’re not seriously gonna let that little guy take on two trained HYDRA by himself?”

“Mikey’s fast,” Raph replied. “And he’s stronger than he looks. But if he needs me,” the two HYDRA fell to the ground, unconscious before they even had time to scream. Raph grinned, “I’ve got his back.”

Bucky watched incredulously as the smaller turtle skipped back to join them, slipping back under his arm like he’d never left. “Okay,” he muttered, thinking of the scrappy, bully hating, heart-of-gold, nothing but skin and bones and sheer guts best friend he’d left in Brooklyn. “I think I get where you’re coming from.”

They managed to get outside before the entire base exploded and meet up with their brothers. Thanks to all the rescued POWs that followed them back to camp, the turtles were welcomed back as heroes. Captain America and his three green friends.

Raphael grumbled about that for days.

“Yeah,“ Mikey agreed when he brought it up yet again at the debriefing for their second mission, “who knew Leo’s dorky nickname would end up being cool?” 

Karai shrugged, lips quirking in amusement. “Your names are a bit of a mouthful for the men to remember.”

On this next mission, they were heading back into enemy territory to stop a man called the Shredder from dropping bombs across the country. When Bucky found out, he wanted to go with them. Especially after he discovered they were collectively less than five years old. 

Slamming his beer on the counter, he said firmly, “You four are not going back into that hell without me.”

The bar went quiet. One man with a large and bushy wheat-colored mustache and a bowler hat stood up from his table, saying, “What’re you taking about, Barnes? Those freaky kids planning on going back?”

Ignoring Leo’s frantic hushing motions, Bucky nodded, a sly smirk on his face. “Apparently, they think we’re gonna let them go on their own.”

Four more grizzled men set their drinks down and stood up. “Well, ain’t that just the dumbest thing you fella’s ever heard?”

 

 _Well, this is one way to go. Not the way I was hoping for, but it’ll get the job done._ Bucky Barnes was holding onto the edge of the train for dear life, but the freezing winds buffeting his hair and clothes was quickly eating away at his strength. With a loud groan, he thought, _Steve’s gonna be so pissed when he finds out I died. But, shit, Steve, it’s not like I’m gonna do it on purpose._

He’d taken a hit for their little green Captain America and it’d launched him right off the train. Now, he was just waiting for his body to figure out that he wasn’t getting out of this one and let him drop. 

Chains wrapped around his arms, the metal so cold it burned. “Don’t worry, man, I gotcha. I’m gonna get you out of this.” He squinted through the harsh wind to see smallest turtle clinging to the window above him, the other end of the chain wrapped around his own arm. 

“Mikey!” Called the bad-tempered green-eyed one from inside. “Get your butt back in here.”

“Give me a second, Raph!” Bucky felt the railing under his fingers begin to bend, heard it screech, and gave a shout. The train was giving up on him before his body could. The only thing keeping him from falling into a snowy abyss he couldn’t see the bottom of and it was about to send him screaming into it. 

One more turtle decided to step put on the edge, staring at the two of them in tortured indecision, and Bucky knew that look. Cap was trying to decide if saving him was a lost cause.

And, ow, that stung a little, but that same conflict was actually pretty plain in his own mind. If he was going to go, he wanted to go on his own terms, not taking anyone with him.

Unfortunately, the chains around his skin meant he literally could not let go without dragging the kid above him down, too. 

Cap rose his voice over the wind. “Mike, get back inside! I can handle it from here.”

It looked like he’d made his decision. Bucky looked hard at him and saw regret tinged with guilt but all he felt was relief. Hope was the thing that kept him holding on. Deep down, he knew there wasn't any saving him.

The little guy above him shook, muscles straining to carry him. And while torture and captivity had slimmed him down quite a bit, it wasn’t going to stop the kid’s arm from popping out of his socket if he tried putting all his weight on it. 

Bucky wanted to tell him to let go, that it's okay, but he opened his mouth and the frigid gale rushed in, nearly freezing his tongue solid.

The train tipped to one side as they careened past a curve, the wheels practically lifting off the tracks, and the blue-eyed turtle above him shot his brother a pleading look as he screamed, “Trust me, Leo!

And Bucky had a brother that sometimes looked at him like that, like he was looking to prove himself in a world that wanted to strip away everything he was and tell him he was nothing, and he knew what the captain was going to say before he said it.

Then the train broke under Bucky’s fingers and he was falling, back and back, until a vicious jerk on his arm pulled him out of the free fall and launched him towards open door where Leonardo was standing with open arms. He barreled into him, sending them both crashing into the back of the train car, and the chain snapped taut around his arm for one, breathless second. Then it went slack.

The turtle under him shoved him off, running back to the gaping hole to find what he hoped to be his brother dangling off the edge so he could reach down, haul him up, and tell him what a moron he was for being so reckless. 

But he looked over the edge and saw only rickety tracks and empty air. Dread pooling in his stomach, he slowly reentered the train car to see Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes holding a broken, twisted, snapped chain link in his hand. 

If Bucky had lost a brother, the last thing he’d want to hear was ‘he was a good soldier’ or 'you have my condolences’ so he said nothing. He watched without comment as the kid in front of him crumbled under the weight of a loss that never should have happened in a war he never should have been in, and listened as the war raged on around them.

 

“Looks like I’m going to have to ask for a rain check on those dancing lessons, Karai.” The plane was filled with bombs marked with every populated city in the Allies and it was heading straight for New York. Even if Stockman could somehow calculate a way for them to bring the plane down, there was no way they could chance it falling back into the wrong hands. The only option was to fly it into the ice, deep in the ocean where no one would ever find it, and the three turtles all agreed that they were going down with it. 

Despite their best efforts, Zola managed to escape, but not before setting a rampaging mutant insect on Donatello that nearly ripped his plastron in two. And standing in the cockpit, he had three lacerations to show for it. Though repeated observations suggested it was healing at an accelerated rate, he hadn’t found the time between taking down the Shredder and hijacking the plane to tell his brothers, and now it seemed it wouldn’t matter.

They heard Karai laugh over the radio. “Ugh,” One arm slung around Leo’s shoulders and the other holding onto Donnie, Raph stared out the windshield and dramatically rolled his eyes, “I can’t believe the last thing I get to hear is you two flirting.” 

The radio crackled, like Karai had set it down for a moment, then her voice filtered through the speakers again, a slight tremor permeating her words that they pretended not to notice. “You boys don’t have to do this. You know that, don’t you? You can come back. You’ve already done more than enough for your country.”

“It’s alright, Karai,” Donnie said. “No one forced us into this. We’re saving the world because we want to.” Bulbous, pink clouds parted under the plane’s tip as Leo steepened their descent. Morning sunlight glittered off the snowy white surfaces of untouched sheets of ice.

Leo nodded his agreement. “This is our choice. We don't want anyone to die so we can live.”

There was a small pause, and then a quiet, “I know.” It was one of the many things she loved about them.

The ice was getting closer, pretty soon they’d be making impact. “It’s just as well, I guess,” Raph remarked, seconds before they submerged. “I was starting to miss my little brother.”


	2. Alive

_Curve ball, high and outside for ball one. So the Dodgers are tied, 4-4._

The radio was unexpected. Being alive was also unexpected. 

_And the crowd well knows that with one swing of his bat, this fellow's capable of making it a brand-new game again._

The sound started out so low it’s like static, background noise to the grinding gears in Leo’s brain as they worked to throw off what felt like a lifetime’s worth of fatigue. Instinct, pure and automatic, convinced him not to open his eyes, not right away. He kept his breathing slow, the rise and fall of his chest even, and hoped his heart rate wasn’t being monitored, because not even his hard earned discipline could calm that down. The static, louder now, gradually began to coalesce into recognizable words that can't drown out the pressing knowledge that he’s only one in this room. There should be two other bodies in here, inhales and exhales weaving their way into the ebb and flow, pauses and starts of the male voice and his steadily growing excitement. 

_Just an absolutely gorgeous day here at Ebbets Field. The Phillies have managed to tie it up at 4-4._

It’s insane. There’s a Dodgers game on the radio, and Leo’s never been an avid fan of any sport, but he remembers Bucky mentioning something about going to the “game of the century” with his best friend before the war. The way he’d talked about it, you’d think they’d stood in the stands as the Dodgers won the World Series. He’d talked to them, but also to the air, to a memory, his eyes bright with alcohol and the old joy of a simpler time, when seeing an in-the-park grand slam was the greatest thing to ever happen to two boys in Brooklyn.

_But the Dodgers have three men on. Pearson beaned Reiser in Philadelphia last month. Wouldn`t the youngster like a hit here to return the favor?_

Pete Reiser. May 1941. Two years before he and his brothers were even born.

As he listened to the broadcast, Pete Reiser stepped up to the plate. In his mind, Leo pictured Bucky mouthing the words along with the announcer.

_Pete leans in. Here's the pitch. Swung on. A line to the right. And it gets past Rizzo. Three runs will score. Reiser heads to third. Durocher`s going to wave him in. Here comes the relay, but they won't get him._

Years ago…

Why would it be playing on the radio?

Almost as if to distract him from what felt a lot like a flaw in a very elaborate ruse, the door creaked open, and a young woman with a slight Japanese accent says, “We know you are awake, Captain Hamato. There’s no need for you to be so cautious.”

Since his own deceit was revealed so easily, Leo sat up in the bed, casually swinging his legs over the side as he fixes her with a hard, even, scrutinizing stare. “Where am I? Where are my brothers?”

“You’re in a recovery room in New York City. Your brothers are safe.”

_The Dodgers take the lead, 8-4. Oh, Dodgers! Everyone is on their feet. What a game we have here today, folks. What a game, indeed._

It’s not just the game. The radio isn’t old, just made to look that way, and the sheets on the bed feel crisp, like they’ve never been used before. And the window’s supposedly open during daylight hours in New York City, a slight breeze tugging at the curtains, but why doesn’t he feel any sun? 

“Where am I, really?” She cocked her head to the side, confusion marring the pretty smile on her face. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” The smile became more strained when he stood, fists clenched hard enough to disrupt blood flow at his sides, and took a few steps forward. She swallowed, her eyes darting behind her. “Now, I’m going to ask you again. Where are they?” 

A twitch at her side and a red light glowing under her thumb were all the warning Leo received before two men in black combat gear came marching in behind her. His suspicions confirmed, Leo backed up further into the room, crouching low. The threatening posture he’d had with the girl had been mostly a bluff, but he didn’t feel any need to go easy on a couple of guys with a foot on him. The thought almost made him grin.

Seconds later, though, and he’s back to being thoroughly confused. Adrenaline burning away what was left of the aching exhaustion he’d felt upon waking, he’d grabbed one of the humans by the legs, pulled them out from under him, and used his body like a makeshift battering ram to slam the second across the chest, sending them both flying through walls that broke like paper.

As he leapt out of the room and into what looked like a giant warehouse, he took a moment to glance back incredulously at the fake walls, disbelief at the lengths humans would go to pump him for information running cold in his veins. 

“Captain Hamato, wait!” He ignored her and her fake concern, choosing instead to run ahead while he still had the element of surprise. He also really didn’t want to hear any of her lies, anymore. 

An alarm sounded shortly after he burst into the hallway, alerting all the spies/agents/traitors that he was escaping. He could hear the girl he’d left untouched signaling his escape over the loudspeakers, but doesn’t bear her any ill will for that, at least. She’d chosen her side and he’d chosen his. Nothing more. Nothing less. It's the lying he can't stand.

Head down, he barreled his way past anyone in his path, shoving past them like a quarterback going for a touchdown, gasping when he finally finds himself in open air.

Except it’s not. It’s too noisy. Too loud. Too bright. Too crowded.

So he keeps running, waiting for someone he knows to call out to him, for a friendly face to make itself known somewhere in one of the many waves of strangers flowing past and around and crashing over him.

Finally, shock overcomes the adrenaline, and he’s forced to slow down, forced to take in the shiny cars and billboards and the moving television screens on the buildings. 

Cars surrounded him in an instant. “Calm yourself, Leonardo!” another heavily accented voice called from one of the black vehicles. It’s been a while since anyone’s called him that, only Dr. Erskine ever did. To Karai and his brothers, he was mostly just Leo. And whenever Raph was feeling particularly sarcastic, Captain Lame-o.

The man – dark hair, Japanese, brown eyes, a martial artist’s build – walked past the circle of armed men that had come pouring out of the cars, moving towards him with an easy gait and something akin to a sheepish smile. “My apologies. We believed it would be best to introduce you gradually to,” he gestured around him, encompassing almost a century’s worth of progress in a single pass. 

Chest still heaving with exertion, Leo focused on him. “What are you talking about?”

Something like pity saturated the man’s gaze. “You’ve been asleep for almost seventy years, Captain. My name is Hamato Yoshi. I am the current director of SHEILD and Hamato Miwa’s grandson.” Seeing Leo's skeptical expression, he added, “I believe you knew her by the name she took on as an agent. Karai.”

Suddenly, Leo found he didn't want to look at him. Anywhere, anything, anyone else would've been better. He just - he just needed some time to breath. Averting his gaze, Leo asked, "Raph? Donatello? Do you know if-" He broke off, too afraid to hear the answer to finish the sentence. For the first time since meeting him, Leo saw doubt dart across the director's face

Around them, people kept milling about their daily lives. Less than a hundred yards ahead, a horn cut through the monotony for an instant that bled like a paper cut, before it was swallowed up by time, healed by a ceaseless, pounding, cutting normality. Standing in the middle of New York City with only a baggy pair of pants and a cotton T-shirt to hide his terrapin features, Leo had never felt so out of place. Or so alone. 

"They're safe, Leonardo." Airy, near-hysterical relief rushed out of him, followed quickly by annoyance because _you couldn't have led with that?!_ "If you can bring yourself to trust me, I promise I will take you to them."


	3. The Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

While underground laboratories and abandoned warehouses were the first places to come to mind when Leo tried to predict where Director Hamato was taking him, the men in suits surrounding him made either of those predictions unlikely. There was no dust on their clothes, no rust. Additionally, the agents held themselves with a disciplined stiffness, scanned their surroundings with an ingrained alertness, that could only belong to ex-military. This organization was better funded and more heavily staffed than the S.S.R. Also, as he was going to find out, it was equipped with fancier toys. 

Still not entirely convinced that his new friends weren’t planning on welcoming him into the new century by strapping him to a table and dissecting him, he stayed close to Director Hamato, dogging his footsteps in case things went south and he needed a hostage. That wasn’t the only reason, though. Now that he knew what to look for, Leo did see Karai in him. They shared the same eyes. 

And though he really wasn't planning on harming him, anyway, that singular trait made it unlikely he could have even if he'd wanted to. 

They climbed into the back of a black car, Hamato told the driver to take them back to base, and Leo folded his arms over his chest, his posture straight and rigid because the seat was firm and upright. Perfect positioning for a soldier, not for relaxing, though he wasn’t in the mood to relax, anyway. Unless the entire city was in on an attempt too fool him into believing he’d woken up in the future, he’d slept for far too long already. 

As the drive went on, he tried to form a layout in his mind, but the droves of people holding metal rectangles to their ears and the slick automobiles made it hard to concentrate. Everything was brighter, louder, faster than he remembered it. Like the world had jumped a mile and he was stumbling, failing to even walk in the same direction. 

He caught a flicker of blue shifting across the window and refocused his gaze so he could look more closely at his reflection. Tentatively, he brushed the skin around his eyes, surprised at how strange he felt without his mask. Thinking of the mask brought him back to his brothers, reminded him that he had to keep his head in the game if he wanted to survive long enough to see them again. A light touch on his shoulder startled him. He turned with the intention of throwing a glare over his shoulder, only to see Director Hamato dangling his mask so close he had no problem snatching it from him. While he slid the mask over his head, feeling it comfortably slide into place in a way that confirmed it was undeniably his, Leo asked, “Where did you find this?”

“You were wearing it when we found you. Your brothers have theirs, as well.”

That brought him to another question. “Why weren’t they placed in the same holding cell as me?“ 

“It wasn’t a holding cell, Captain.” 

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter what you call it. Why were we separated?”

For the first time since Leo met the director, an expression approaching discomfort crossed his face. He interlocked his fingers, resting his head on the clasped hands placed under his chin. “You probably don’t know this, but there are many in this country who grew up wanting to be you. I happen to be one of them.“ Leo nodded to show he was following, though he had no idea where the man was going with this. “There are others, however, who grew up admiring your brothers. Though they’re often relegated to little more than sidekicks in the initial comics, current adaptations have begun to focus more on the four of you as a group. As a result, today’s little boys are just as likely to say they’d like to be Michelangelo or Donatello as they are to walk around in a mask with a plastic shield.”

“That’s great,” Leo said curtly as the car took a sharp turn to the right. “Thanks for the history lesson but what does this have to do with where you're keeping my brothers?”

And though Hamato’s mouth stayed in a firm, professional line, there was a playfulness in his voice as he replied, “The comics say your brother is a bit of a hot head, Captain. Boys love to dress up as fierce Raphael for Halloween.” Oh. Raph was going to love that. “To be honest, I believed the comics were exaggerating his character.” This time, Hamato couldn't entirely suppress the amused smile quirking his lips. “Turns out I was wrong.” 

Sighing heavily, Leo asked what trouble he’d gotten into. “If I need to pay damages, I can tell you right now that I don’t have any money.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. We’ll more than capable of taking care of a little property damages.” He frowned, the easygoing air dissipating. “That doesn’t mean I’m thrilled about the three good agents he sent to the hospital, though.”

Yep. That sounded like his brother. Leo breathed a sigh of relief, then noticed the director’s raised brow and shrugged, rubbing his head sheepishly. “It’s not that I’m happy he hurt your agents, Director. I’m just relieved he’s alive.”

The man smiled to show he understood. “Very much so. Unfortunately, in order to keep him from injuring anyone else, he was detained.”

Surprise was quickly followed by anger. “You locked him up? We agreed to serve to this country so we could get out of cages.”

“You didn’t agree to anything, Captain.” The director said coolly as the car slowed to a stop mere feet away from a helicopter dock. “You and your brothers aren’t people. By law, you’re property. Property that technically belongs to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Eyes darkening with rage, Leo growled, “We didn’t sacrifice ourselves - our future - for this country so we could be your slaves.”

To his credit, the director seemed to anticipate this response, possibly because he’d purposely provoked it. “No, Leonardo, I have no intention of treating you or your brothers as property, but if you think the 21st is any friendlier to mutants than the 20th, I’m afraid you are going to be very disappointed.” Outside of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s protection, there was no telling what could happen to a few mutated turtles. It was as good as a threat. Better because its aim was to instill the fear without the anger, the resentment. But if Director Hamato was looking for a puppet, then he'd better be prepared for his own dose of disappointment. “For the sake of this country, I am trying to bring together a group of very talented individuals. It’s called the Avengers Initiative, and I believe it is your brothers’ best option. With us, you’ll be risking your lives with the might and power of S.H.I.E.L.D. behind you every step of the way. Without us, you will be risking your lives alone.” He opened the door, stepping out into the sunlight. “Take your time, Captain. There’s no need to give me your answer at this moment.”

Leo nodded, grateful for the reprieve. He couldn’t make a decision as important as this without Raph or Don’s input, anyway. He refused to do that to them. 

Yes, he was the leader of their team. That didn’t mean they weren’t still a team, and each of them was just as important as the rest. Each of them was necessary...

He clenched his teeth, stamping down hard on that train of thought. He’d revisit it later. Sometime, when they were all safe, he’d think about how the team was somehow supposed to continue moving forward with three parts when it was formed and made to function with four. 

And even though he spent most of his time in the helicopter stubbornly trying to distract himself, the first thought that popped into his head when the massive helicarrier came into view was how much his little brother would have liked it. When he closed his eyes, he could almost see him glued to the window, gesturing for him to come over because _Leo, you have to see this!_

His eyes flew open when the helicopter touched the landing dock, and though it shouldn’t have surprised him in the least, he still felt a hollow pang inside to see there was no one standing at the window.

 

He woke up on a white floor so bright it hurt to look at. The aching head and muscles - the lingering fog in his brain - all pointed to either a mild concussion or side effects from whatever he’d been dosed with. The weird glass box he was being kept in and the lack of any tenderness on his skull pointed to Option B as the obvious choice. A headache and a brain injury were as different as a splinter and being impaled with a spear as far as he was concerned. You could shake off a splinter, ignore it if you had to, but you weren’t going to get far with a spear in your gut.

Gradually, he remembered that this wasn’t his first time waking up without having any clue where he was. Or, more accurately, where he was being kept. Because even if the iron bars were replaced by translucent glass and the damp, dingy floor was so clean he could probably lick it, it was still a cage. A prison. 

Rising panic chowed down on the drugs in his system as adrenaline burned through his veins. There was no one else in the cage. He was alone.

He screamed out at roar, a challenge that echoed through the space, and slammed his fists against the glass. Normally, he’d punch right through it, but the glass did little more than wobble under his onslaught, absorbing each of his punches like it was made of water. It was solid enough, though, because it wasn’t long before red and bits of skin smeared the clear surface. 

Falling back on his haunches, Raph ignored the sting in his torn knuckles to get a better look at his surroundings. Even though the thought of curling up and wrapping his arms over the hollow feeling in his plastron was tempting, he couldn’t allow himself to give up on trying to get to them. 

His brothers needed him. He wasn’t going to stop or be stopped until he saw them again. 

Another, deeper roar to his right drew his attention to the room’s only other occupant. “Woah.” There was another mutant beating at the bars of his prison, except he didn’t get the fancy white box. His prison’s aesthetic was more traditional, iron bars in an iron cage made for dangerous, uncontrollable animals, which probably had something to do with the fact that he was roughly the twice the size of the Shredder and even less friendly. It could have been a trick of the light, but the mutant’s eyes appeared to glow red as it rammed the bars with its head, shook itself off, and tried again.

“Hey!” Raph called to him, feeling a small sense of kinship with this mutant since the spiked turtle shell on its back meant it must have been at least part turtle, “Cut that out. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” The towering mutant didn’t seem to understand him, but it paused when it heard his voice, so Raph edged himself as close to him as he could without touching the glass and said, “If it didn’t work the first hundred times, it’s not gonna work the next hundred, so calm down and wait for me to figure out a way out of here. If you’re a good crocodile turtle thing and don’t try to eat me, maybe I’ll let you out.” The creature turned on him, baring its mouthful of teeth in a snarl. Raph rubbed his head and sighed.

“That’s not a good idea,” said a voice from right outside his cell. Raph narrowed his eyes into a fierce glare as he looked up to see a man in his late teens to early twenties wearing a loose t-shirt and dark cargo pants. Long black hair and a gap-toothed smile added to the contrast between him and the parade of agents, or whatever it was they’d called themselves before he’d thrashed them. He remembered now. The first time he’d woken up, it’d been in a bed, surrounded by armed strangers that wanted him to believe he’d been asleep for almost a century. Obviously, that didn’t go over well. 

The man, seeing he had the turtle’s attention, nodded his head towards the other cage. “He looked like that when we found him frozen in the ice, but after he defrosted… he kind of shrunk?” A shrug. “He looked like you. Taller, maybe, but he could talk to us and understand what we were saying. He didn’t believe us, though, when we told him you and the captain were alive and well. He got worked up real quick, all our attempts to calm him down backfired, and next thing we knew we were dealing with an 8-foot monster trying to bite our heads off. So, yeah, letting him out? You might want to rethink that.” Observing the bloodstains on the wall with a frown, he wryly commented, “Nice job redecorating, by the way. I can get someone over here to check on your hand if you promise me you won’t throw them through a wall.”

Raph was making no such promises. Hands clenching and unclenching impotently at his sides, he climbed to his feet, a veritable grenade of worry and fear and pent up rage. “Are you trying to tell me Donnie’s turned into some kind of monster?” It was a warning, and beneath the warning, a plea. Because life couldn’t be this cruel. Not to them. Not again. He couldn’t lose another brother again. 

Sensing that the turtle wasn't mentally equipped for games just then, the man came right out and said, “Weren’t you listening? Yeah, that’s your brother.” The ground shook as the creature threw itself against the bars once more. “But he can turn back. We’re not sure, but the director thinks he just needs to calm down. And we have our guys checking out his blood, trying to find out what the heck happened to him, so whatever help he needs, you can bet he’s going to get it here.”

It sounded too good to be true, which usually meant it was. “What do you want from us? How did you get Donnie’s blood?”

“Oh, we asked him nicely. Right after he tried to eat my face.” He jabbed a thumb towards himself for emphasis.

Raph grimaced at the thought of Don eating a person, but the exaggerated look of irritation the man was sporting actually reminded him somewhat of the genius. “Ugh. Don’t let him eat you. You’ll make him sick.”

“Says you. I’ll have you know I’m full of nutrients.” Apparently, the implication that he was junk food was more offensive than the thought of being eaten. What a strange guy. “The name’s Casey Jones, by the way. I have a cool codename, too, but I’ve found a little trust goes a long way.”

“If you trust me so much, why don’t you bring me my weapons?” It was weird, not feeling the weight of his sais on his sides. His hands kept brushing skin where they usually touched metal. They were too much a part of him for him to feel comfortable without them.

“I said a little trust.” The agent clarified. “That’s a lot of trust. You can’t stab me with my real name, Raphael.”

“No. But I’m not going to be unarmed forever, Jones.”

They fell into silence after that. For a few minutes, Jones turned around to give Raph some privacy, allowing him to sink to his knees so he could press his forehead against the glass wall facing his mutated little brother and whisper through the glass, “Don’t worry about a thing, Donnie. Leo and me, we’re gonna fix this. You just hang in there.” His eyes roved desperately over the new face in front of him, searching for any sign of the only little brother he had left, but as far as he could tell, the only thing Don saw when he looked at him was an appetizer. 

Some time later, Jones rapped twice on the glass and a section the size of a hand melted away. Through it, two masks were pushed, one purple and orange. Raph snatched them out of the air, pinning them to his plastron with a strangled cry of disbelief. Swallowing down the sudden onslaught of emotion seeing the two masks had brought on, he cleared his throat and asked, “Where did you get these?”

One of the masks was obviously Donnie’s, but the other… Mikey fell wearing his mask. The only way the orange mask clutched between his fingers could be his would be if Don had somehow snagged his back-up mask, the one they were to use if their usual masks got lost or damaged beyond repair. Growing up with scientists meant they didn’t blink at having back-ups for their back-ups, but why would Don have it?

“The orange one belonged to your younger brother, didn’t it?” His brow furrowed with concentration as he struggled to remember a name he'd only heard a handful times in his life. “Michelangelo, right?” Raphael stiffened. “The purple mask slipped off your brother when he went a little bit beastly on us, but the orange one was in his gear. Figured it’d be better if you held onto them for him.” He paused. “Judging by your reaction, you didn't know he held onto it?” Tension buzzed between them, stretching to its limits, and just when it was about to snap, Jones said, “Listen, one thing I’ve learned about grief is that everyone does it differently. Sometimes, we latch on to who we have left, sometimes we push them away, usually without even meaning to, and then there’s this really quiet, private grief. It’s not about keeping a secret or anything like that. It’s not about you at all. It’s about survival.” As he said this, his gaze drifted further away, as though he were no longer looking outwards, but inwards, at the memories playing a movie in his mind. 

For a guy who’d known Don for literally a minute before he lost the ability to speak in anything besides grunts and roars, he sure seemed to have a lot to say about him. It wasn't inaccurate, but that didn't change the fact that he didn't actually know him. When Raph mentioned that, his muscles visibly relaxed as a result of his decision to trust that this agent wasn’t just another government stooge planning to harvest his blood or turn him into a weapon. Not bothering to comment on the change, Jones shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot. And my partner’s a pretty private person herself.”

The doors opened abruptly, startling them both. “That so, Jones? I didn’t realize you were an expert on my personality.” A woman in a skintight leather cat suit with a gun hanging from a holster wrapped around her waist strode into the room. She threw a distainful glance at the red streaks coating the inside of their guest’s temporary containment. “I thought I told you to keep him from hurting himself.”

“No, you told me to watch him. It’s not my fault he’s a little cracked in the head.”

“You’re an adult. Stop blaming children for your mistakes.” Hold up. Just who was supposed to be a child here? 

Raph tried to interrupt with, "Aren't I technically around seventy something years old? Respect your elders."

Brushing him off, Jones continued as though he hadn't spoken.“I’m not a babysitter, Red.”

“Of course not. That would require some actual maturity on your part.” While they countered to bicker back and forth, ignoring him, Raph focused valiantly on not slamming his head against the wall. Then he noticed a man he didn’t recognize walking a few paces behind her, and with him, a face he’d recognize anywhere.

“Leo! Oh, man, am I glad to see you!”

“Raph?!” It took a second for Leo to get his legs moving, but once they did he started sprinting. Dark thoughts swirling inside him at the sight of his brother in a cage he could barely stand in, he slid to a halt in front of Raph’s glass prison, pounded on the wall between them, and when that proved fruitless, spun on Director Hamato, his beak curled back in a disgusted sneer. “Let him out. Now.”

A subtle, composed nod from the director was sent in Jones’ direction, dragging a frustrated sigh out of him. “Sure, why not?” He shrugged. “It’s not like this kid has no right to be giving orders or anything, right? Heck, why don’t we just promote him to director right now?”

“That’s enough, Agent Jones. Captain Hamato has had a very long day.” Thinking of the bad news the kid was in for after his long nap, Jones decided to let up on the attitude a little. Ignoring the intense glare searing into the side of his head, he placed his hand on the glass, waited for the transparent scanner to recognize the shape of his palm, and stepped back. The sides fell away from the center as they folded into themselves, and Leo, not even waiting until they were fully lowered, leapt over the walls to embrace his brother. 

Once the shock at seeing Leo safe and whole wore off, Raph relaxed a little, switching gears from ‘dealing with a possible threat’ to ‘squeezing back to let Leo know I’m okay – that we’re okay.’ 

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Leo checked him over frantically, clearly skeptical of Raph’s claim that he was completely unharmed. In the face of his torn knuckles, it didn’t bear much weight, anyway, but the injuries were minor. Nothing Leo would usually get too worked up about. 

“I swear, Leo, I’m fine.” He shrugged off the lingering concern, knowing their reunion couldn’t last forever, even if fussing over him did seem to make Leo feel a little better. Part of Raphael longed to let him sleep first. He looked dead on his feet, not swaying, but strained, too obviously vigilant. “There’s something you need to know.” A low growl coming from the cage tore Leo’s attention away, drawing it towards the shell layered like armor over the back of a mutated, snarling turtle. Saliva dripped from its jaws in long tendrils as it stared hungrily at them through the bars. 

“What is that?”

When Raphael hesitated, Jones opened his mouth to answer, but was met with a dark, warning look. To show he got the message loud and clear, he made a point of physically backing off a few steps. The exchange did not go unnoticed. “Raph? What aren’t you telling me?” With a sharp breath and an expression of pure, dawning dread, he added quickly, “Where’s Donnie? Why isn’t he with you?” 

He turned sharply, intent on throwing that same question at the director, the man who’d promised he’d take him to his brothers, both of them, but Raph grabbed hold of his shoulders, forcing Leo to look at him. “That is Don, Leo.” Purple and orange masks were dangled in front of Leo’s face. “Look, I didn’t want to believe it either. But he needs our help.”

“A guy you don’t even know gives you a purple mask and you’re convinced Don’s turned into a rampaging monster?”

“ _Yes._ No! It’s more than that, okay? That’s Donnie. I don’t know how or why or what happened but I know that’s him. And you and I both know we’re not leaving until he’s back to normal.” Leo bit down in the inside of his cheek.

What if they stayed and it turned out it wasn’t him? What if they were just playing into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hands?

Ignoring the way Agent O’Neil shook her head when he stepped forward, Jones cleared his throat and said, ”Why don’t you two try talking to him? I’m not saying you should stick your head in the cage or anything crazy like that, but maybe hearing your voices will calm him down?” Frustrated by the stunned silence his proposition was met with, he jerked his fingers through his hair, snapping, “Well, it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

“Jones,” O’Neil ground out, “do you think I could speak with you outside?”

Unnerved by her tone, he leaned back as she closed the distance between them. “Health-wise, I’m not sure that’s in my best interests-”

The director stepped between them before O’Neil could get within throttling distance. “That is a wonderful idea. Why don’t we give them some privacy? While we’re out, could you retrieve their weapons for them, Agent O’Neil? I believe our guests would feel more inclined to trust us if we extended a little trust towards them.”

“Could we also have some bandages to wrap his hands with?” Leo asked. “His wounds may not be serious but they’ll need to be kept clean if we don’t want to invite infection.”

“I’m a mutant, Leo,” Raph grumbled, “They’ll heal up in no time.”

With an indulgent smile, the director agreed to have bandages brought in with their weapons. “Of course, I am confident you will not try anything as foolish as freeing Donatello while we’re gone, correct?”

Gaze darting towards the bellowing mutant, Leo nodded gravely. “He’s our brother and we love him. And I can guarantee we’re going to fix this, somehow…. But we’re not insane, Director.” Unless Don regained a few IQ points and decided to use one of his claws as a lock pick, he wasn’t going anywhere. 

“That’s a relief,” Jones muttered to himself as they left, earning himself a sharp jab under the ribcage. “Ow! Don’t hit me, Red. I’m a delicate soul. Forever trapped in the body of the wickedly handsome.”

Once they were outside the doors and the director was out of sight, O’Neil slammed him against the wall, surprising an _oof_ out of him. “Is this a joke to you, Casey? Those kids may be mutants and they may be soldiers, but these past seventy years have been a blink to them, and now they might as well be on the verge of losing yet another sibling. So maybe you can’t find it in your heart to be nice, or better yet, silent, but don’t give them false hope like that. Not when all it does is make disappointment that much harder to bear.”

“Oh? I never realized you had such a bleeding heart, April.” Her eyes narrowed into slits as the corners of his mouth lifted in a grin. “You keep calling them kids, but they’re not. Kids go into wars but they don’t come out of them. You and I know that better than anyone. They don’t need to coddled, Red. The thing about soldiers is treating them like glass doesn’t help them. Looking them in the eye, treating them like people instead of tools or a problem that needs fixing? That may not be the help they need, but I doubt it’s going to hurt. So you can report me if you want, but it’s what I did with you, and between you and me, I think you turned out pretty great.” Grinning wryly, he added, “And who said I’m giving them false hope? They’re talking turtles, April. Talking turtles that haven’t aged since the 1940’s. Is asking for another miracle really such a stretch when you’re in the presence of three?”

The pressure disappeared from his shoulders as she released him. As much as she wanted to be, she wasn’t angry with him anymore. It was because he was like this that she’d been saved, after all. “All right,” she said at last, “I suppose I can-“ He shushed her. Bristling, she warned in a low voice, “Jones, don’t you dare-“ 

He shushed her again, this time more insistently. “Red, do you hear that?”

Putting aside her irritation like a coat that could be taken off and worn again later, she focused on pinpointing the sound that was putting him on edge. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly. There’s been nothing but noise coming from that room all morning. Where is it now?”

Panic seized her as the most likely answer formed in her mind. “They didn’t.” They raced inside, guns drawn, expecting to see a giant, monster sized hole in the wall, only to come face to face with the sight of the two turtles guiding their suddenly normal sized brother through the bars. The young turtle appeared dazed, he stumbled, but two pairs of arms caught him before he could fall and pulled him close. 

“It’s okay, Donnie,” Leo said, making his voice as low and soothing as he knew how, “You’re safe now. We all are.” O'Neil exited the room to get them their weapons and a blanket, since the tallest of the turtles shook violently, though whether it was a lingering effect of the transformation or merely psychological, she couldn’t even hazard a guess. Either way, she was going to see to it that he was wrapped in a blanket and given something warm to eat.

Before she could leave, though, the director returned with a heavy bundle consisting of sais, katana, and a bo staff. “Don’t worry, Agent O’Neil. I noticed you were otherwise occupied so I got them myself.” Though his tone didn’t change beyond a hint of sarcasm, the agent was distinctly reminded of how a child must feel after being reprimanded by a school teacher. Jones made as if to argue her case, but she shook her head, then offered the director an apology. There were plenty of battles worth fighting for, an issue as trivial as this wasn’t one of them. 

After wordlessly accepting her apology, the director returned the weapons to their rightful owners. At the same time, Raph worked on tying the tails of Donatello’s mask into a tight knot, and Leo gave the orange mask back to him for safekeeping. As he carefully ran his fingers along the mask’s soft fabric, his shaking ceased to a mild trembling. “I don’t remember what happened, exactly, but I think I lost control.” Eyes wide and frightened, he asked in a whisper, Did I hurt anyone?” 

With a small, grateful smile, Raph squeezed his arm. “No. No one got hurt because of you.” Throwing a sheepish glance at the gathered S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, he scratched the side of his head and added, “I may have bashed a few heads together, though.”

“Yes, well,” the director made eye contact with each of them as he spoke, “that was our fault. Our attempts to confront you with the truth of your circumstances gradually only led you to distrust us. For that, and for what I’m about to ask of you, I must offer you my sincerest apologies.” Every body in the room tensed at this announcement.

While O’Neil struggled to hold her tongue, since it was not the place of an agent of S.H.E.I.L.D., Jones held no such compunctions. “Not immediately, though, right? They just woke up, after all. And he,” Don frowned at the finger pointed in his direction, “just got through being a dinosaur. Shouldn’t we give them at least a few days to get settled?”

“You know me better than this, Agent Jones. They will be given a meal and a full night’s rest, but time is of the essence.” Turning back to face the turtles as they rose to stand, he explained, “Over the past few weeks, I’ve sent some of my best men to scope out a Hydra warehouse that we believe to be filled with information that could be vital to combating future Hydra operations. However, they have all met with mysterious accidents before making it back to headquarters.”

“Yeah,” Jones muttered under his breath, “like accidentally falling on a bullet.”

“And what makes you think we’ll be any different?” Raph demanded. “For all you know, you’re sending us to our deaths.” 

“I’m not forcing you to take this mission. I’m asking. So tell me, Captain Hamato, Raphael, Donatello, are you willing to risk your lives once more for the sake of this country?”


	4. Hymn For The Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heart to heart before the action starts.

_Log 19: The asset is curious. He asks too many questions. Agent Bishop has advised the commencement of a full wipe._

_Log 27: The asset no longer asks questions. Multiple wipes have resulted in a docile personality. Certain triggers, however, can regress the asset to a significantly more confused and aggressive state of mind._

_Log 33: First mission was a success, however, the emotional stress is taking its toll on the asset. He is becoming unstable. Unpredictable. Orders are to wipe him and then put him on ice. The asset is one of our most effective creations, but if his body or mind should fail, replacing even the best soldier is a simple enough task._

“I can’t believe we agreed to this.” As Raph irritably paced back and forth in the room assigned to them, Donatello sat on the ground, his back pressed against the frame of the bottom bunk bed with his knees pulled against his chest, his gaze as vacant as an empty lot. 

“What choice did we have?” Leo snapped, his nerves already frayed from the long day, from the sneaking, hollowed out ache in his chest that was only making itself known now that they weren’t fighting for their lives anymore, now that the war was over, if it ever really ended, and from the burning knowledge that there was nothing he could do to help Don, that the best thing they could do for him was to let him stare out into space like a broken marionette. “For all the director said he wasn’t forcing us into anything, the reality is we don’t have any friends in this time, any family,” Raph winced at that, “and we don’t know anything about how to survive here. Everything we knew about how to live ended last century.“ Leo curled his fingers around the bed’s slate sheets. It was times like these that he had to keep it together, say what was best for the team so he could be the leader they needed, instead of the brother he desperately wanted to be. “There’s a steep learning curve and, so far, S.H.E.I.L.D.’S the only one offering to help us catch up with the rest of the world, so if you can think up a better option, I’m all ears, but if not, this is the only good thing we’ve got going for us."

“All we’ve done is trade one war for another. I _know_ you know that”

He was right and they all knew it, but Leo didn’t respond. Instead, he stood and left, mumbling something fast about going to speak with Director Hamato. 

And though the director had obviously meant to grant them a good night’s sleep as a kindness, as well as to make sure they were in perfect fighting condition for their first S.H.I.E.L.D. mission in the morning, Leo couldn’t help but wonder if the reason they’d managed to come so far, from the lab, to the battlefield, to the ice, without stopping was precisely because they’d never had the time to. They’d never had the time to count their losses before. 

Once the door slammed shut, as it was too heavy to shut otherwise, Raph scowled at the wall, focusing his fear into something he could use. And he was afraid. As long as the world was against them, nothing could pull them apart. But this wasn’t the world he’d grown up in. With that said, it’d first started changing into something unrecognizable long before he was dug out of the ice. 

“It hurts,” a small voice whispered from the ground behind his back, and instantly the scowl evaporated, all of his anger chased away by the need to make sure Don was okay. When he spun around, it was to see his brother clutching his plastron, his mouth firmly pressed in a grim line. 

Kneeling down next to him, Raph touched his arm. “What is it? Are you-” The word changing passed between them, unspoken but understood, nonetheless. Moving for the door, he said quickly, “Just hold on. I’ll go get Leo.” A hand gripped his wrist, begging him to stay.

“It’s okay.” Donnie explained. “I’m not – It’s not another transformation, I think.” That was like exploding outwards, everything he held back punching its way past his walls until any semblance of control came crashing down. “This… I don’t think it’s real.”

And, in its own way, that was also worrying.

Outside the door, boots could be heard clomping through the hallway. When no soft padding of scaled bare feet followed them, Raph plopped down next to his brother, bumping his shoulder gently when he said, “Tell me about it.”

At first, it seemed like Don wasn’t going to say anything more, like asking him to talk about what was hurting him had scared him back into his shell, but then he took a deep breath. “It’s like someone took a spoon, gouged out my insides with it, and now I’m just… empty. Like I’m missing something but I have no idea what, and the fact that I don’t know, may never know…” He gripped his bo staff tighter, his eyes glued to the orange mask knotted around it. “ Do you remember the experiments? The ones the scientists performed on us before Dr. Erskine realized just how… _human_ the serum made us?”

Shuddering, Raphael recalled a few with perfect clarity. “That wasn’t fun.”

Snorting softly, Don agreed. “Not even a little. There was one experiment where Mikey and I were placed inside a box with a divider between us. I couldn’t see him or hear him, and every time I tried to break through the divider it just knocked me backwards. I had no idea what they were doing to him on the other side… then I felt it. My arm seared like it was on fire. I screamed. But the scientists never touched me. Not then, at least. When they sent us back to our cages at the end of it, there was a bandage stuck on Mikey’s arm where they gave him a shot.” Raph watched the way he rubbed his arm, thinking back to that day, reliving it. And he knew it was coming, the question, the desperate hope that scratched at Donnie’s throat when he turned owlish eyes on him asked, “Can you honestly tell me you don’t feel anything?”

And the truth was he could. Something in him was gone, empty, hollowed out, scooped out and raw, like there was nothing under his ribcage, not flesh or fire or a beating heart, but admitting that wouldn’t fix things. Nothing would. But it could make things worse, it could keep them frozen, and that was a death sentence.

“Nothing.” The words taste like ash in his mouth, leaving a dusty, bitter aftertaste. It’s the least convincing he’s ever been but Donnie wasn’t in the mood to read between the lines. Or maybe he knew. He knew and he pulled away because Raph did feel it, that black hole inside, but even if that were the case, he'd lied about it, and that meant Don was on his own. 

The tension stretched until Don jerked away from him with a pained gasp and a hand over his heart, sucking down deep, gulping breaths until the pounding in his ears died down, until the heat faded from his blood and the ache left his bones. Then he stilled, becoming quiet, unmoving, and remote. Raph scowled at the perceived rejection, his legs itching once more to move, pace, run. Anything that wasn’t reaching over and shaking Donatello out of whatever daze he was sinking into. If Donatello burrowed down into his mind, hiding there like a small, frightened creature too timid to poke its head out, then Raph couldn’t help him. 

Making a noise of frustration low in his throat, he sharply reminded himself that it didn’t matter what Don said or did, because what was wrong wasn’t something that could be fixed. And worse, Donnie was afraid to feel. Afraid of turning into a monster again, so he directed all of his rage and fear and doubt inwards until they canceled each other out, leaving him full and emptied out and numb in a way that resembled an explosive device with its countdown on pause. 

Even with Raphael sitting right next to him, Don was alone. 

There was a scuff of bare skin and metal as it scratched against the ground, then a heavy weight slung itself around Donatello’s shoulders. He stiffened. “I don’t know how to fix this, and I know Leo doesn’t either, but we’re doing the best we can. Nothing that’s happened to us is fair. When we were going down in that plane, it was our choice. No one decided for us, no one made us do it. We put our shells on the line because it was the right thing to do. I was proud of us, then. And you know what? I think Mikey was, too.” He waited for Donatello to say something. Instead, the turtle in the purple mask inclined his head slightly, just to show he was listening. “You could quit right now if that’s what you want. I won’t like it - Leo won’t, either - but we can’t force you to fight with us if that’s not what you want to do. You could stay here, out of danger, away from anything that could upset you or scare you or turn you into a giant green rage monster.” A small, disapproving frown curved the corners of Donnie’s mouth. Raph took it as a small victory. “We’ll stay here until S.H.I.E.L.D. comes up with a cure, and then we’ll go. We already gave up a lifetime for this country - for humans – we don’t owe them anything else.

“But you’re still going to fight tomorrow?”

“We have to. But, also…” A wry grin and sparkling green eyes dissipated some of the solemnity that had gathered around them like a heavy blanket. “The Hydra we fought with the Howling Commandoes must either be gone or on a strict diet of baby food by now, but you better believe their descendants are more than ready for their own major butt kicking.” 

“Last time, you said we’d beat them so bad their descendants would remember it.”

Raph laughed, a low, soft sound, surprising them both. “I did, didn’t I? Guess they need a reminder.” 

And since there’s no soldiers watching, no leader, no baby brother looking to him for reassurance, Donnie asked a question he’d never allowed himself to ask before, “What are we even fighting for, Raph? Why? If it’s revenge-”

“It’s not.” Raph assured him. “We fight for what we’ve always fought for. For us. For each other. And if that’s enough anymore then…” He let the sentence trail off, like he couldn’t bring himself to finish it, like he was afraid of what would happen if he did.

But Donnie turned to look at him, his expression open and fierce and focused on making it as clear as he possibly could that, “It’s always been enough. No matter how much the world changes or how much I change, nothing will ever keep me from fighting with my brothers.” Scrubbing his face with the palm of his hand, he added, “I just… needed some time to get my head on straight, I guess.”

It took time to get used to the idea that not everything could be fixed, not every scar would fade, that sometimes, things didn’t get better. They’d gone from something infinite and confident and fearless to something struggling to breathe in the time it took to open their eyes, and that wasn’t okay. It wasn’t. But they were alive. They were alive and together and they could fight. Some days, that was enough. 

It had to be. 

“Come on,” Raph snatched the remote to the thin television off the bed in a flicker of movement, then pointed it at the screen, “I don’t know about you, but this box has me curious. You wanna see what this baby can do?”

 

……

Leo didn’t leave immediately. He hovered by the door, listening intently for the low murmur of conversation he knew would commence once he was out of the picture. It wasn’t until he heard a familiar bark of laughter travel through the thick slab of metal between him and his family that he finally relaxed. 

It was while he was walking through the halls, resolutely avoiding making eye contact with any curious S.H.I.E.L.D. agents he passed, that he found a dojo, a wooden dojo sitting incongruently between two sleek walls that gleamed with the same metallic sheen as the rest of the building. It was as if one section of the wall had been ripped out and replaced with a scene ripped right out of feudal Japan. There was a strong scent of spruce trees in the air, mixed with sandalwood, incense, and oil. From where he stood, he could see a naginata propped against the wall. They hadn’t had much time to clean and sharpen their weapons, but Donnie’s bo staff was soggy, degraded by its time in the ice. Sending him into battle with a broken weapon was as good as killing him. 

His gaze focused entirely on the weapon, Leo stepped into the dojo. A subtle clearing of the throat jolted him, and he spun sharply to see the director climbing out of a meditative position, his suit replaced by an iron gray yukata. He glanced between Leo's outstretched hand and the weapon on the wall with a look of understanding. “Yes, I suppose Donatello’s bo staff is due for an upgrade. It has been a few decades since his last one, after all.” That sounded suspiciously like a joke. Were the directors of super shady government organizations supposed to make jokes? 

Almost fondly, the director plucked the blade off the wall and said, “My grandmother talked about you boys all the time, you know. She said you were the greatest heroes the world had ever seen.”

Speaking past the sudden lump in his throat, Leo managed to ask, “What was it like? Growing up with Karai?” She'd never seemed like the kindly grandmother type. More like a force of nature in heels. The director walked a few steps away, spinning the naginata across and around his body with movements that were fluid, as natural and thoughtless as water flowing over stones. As he moved, Leonardo followed the dips and grooves in the wall with the tips of his fingers.

After a moment, the director smiled. “She was a drill sergeant. And a tyrant." That did sound like her, actually. "She had no patience for excuses. But I treasure every memory I have of us training in the dojo together.” And Leo tried to imagine it, a little boy mimicking his grandmother’s movements, peeking curiously through a gap between his lids to glimpse and wonder at the ways in which meditation smoothed out her edges, until she became too bored with sitting still, as Karai was prone to do, and broke through the calm and silence with an impish grin and a wink for the boy too curious to close his eyes. 

His own form overlapped with the boy’s, a memory merging with a dream. “Once, after a particularly grueling session, she took me out for ice cream. Said I could have as many scoops as I wanted. Naturally, I made sure to pile the ice cream until it towered over my head, ate all of it, and made myself very, very sick.” 

In Leo’s mind, the memory of himself and the dream of the boy were ripped apart from each other. Noticing his present company’s abrupt change in demeanor, Director Hamato paused, thinking back to the last few words he’d spoken for a possible cause. “Forgive me, Captain. It was not my intention to offend you.”

“No, I wasn’t offended, Director, I just… My brothers and I, we’ve never gone out for ice cream. Before the war, we were nothing more than an experiment. You don’t take _science projects_ out for ice cream.” And he thought he could keep the bitterness out of his tone, but it dribbled out like pieces of rotten fruit regardless.

“If even a single story _Obaasan_ told me about you and your brothers has an ounce of truth to it, then you were never merely someone’s experiment. You have always been so much more.” He stepped back, scratching the back of his head in a nervous gesture that must have resembled the somewhat awkward young boy he’d once been. “I’m afraid I must once more ask for your forgiveness. I was raised looking up to you, yet here I am speaking to you as though I'm your father.”

And how anyone so earnest and well-meaning could lead such a large, powerful organization was beyond comprehension, but maybe it had something to do with the way he, intentionally or not, made anyone that spent more than five minutes with him want to trust him without question or limits. Under his gaze, Leonardo felt himself waver. He wanted to pour out his fears, his doubts, his guilt, if only so living with it all would become slightly more bearable. “That’s okay,” Leo said instead, “I don’t mind.”

Shortly after that, they wished each other a good night, “Get some rest, Captain,” and by the time Leonardo found his way back to his room, there was a fully dissected television set and three untouched bowls of ice cream waiting patiently for his return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ready to meet the Winter Soldier?


	5. The Winter Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!

It had been dark the first time they’d driven through these streets, back when they were still one of America’s best kept secrets. Donatello pressed his hands against the car window, gaping wordlessly at the road until Leo prompted him. “Don? What’s going on? What is it?”

That path, that groove, that tree, that bush – it all looked the same as it had nearly a century ago, the first time a young mutant pressed his face against the class, the first time he committed the path to memory because they were finally, _finally_ leaving. No more experiments. No more tests. No more cages. 

And now they were going back. “The HYDRA base we’re heading to… It’s where we were made, isn’t it?” The question, delivered with a resigned certainty that suggested he already knew – and resented - the answer, was directed at the two agents seated in front of them. 

Jones sat up a little straighter in the driver’s seat, his shoulders set in a tense line, his grip on the wheel tightening while O’Neil glanced back at them with a trace of unwanted, unappreciated pity in her expression. “At its heart, S.H.I.E.L.D. is an intelligence gathering agency. Our job is to get the right intelligence into the right hands so the most people can be saved. What you needed to know was that there was suspected Hydra intelligence and a significant amount of risk. The rest was… inconsequential.” 

“Not even we’re told everything, Green Bean.“ 

Unfortunately, the impact of the almost apologetic admission was overshadowed by the sheer force of the outrage Donnie felt upon hearing that particular nickname. “Green Bean? Is that supposed to be reference to my height, Cavemouth?”

“Chill, Lake Placid.” The reference went over every head in the car except for that of the fellow agent in the passenger’s seat, who groaned at both the inappropriateness and at the memory of being forced to sit down to watch that particularly silly B-movie. Whenever he had time, Casey would pick a film, heat up some popcorn, and pester her until she sat down and watched whatever new “American classic” she absolutely couldn’t afford to miss. “It’s not an insult. And, also, if you really want to know how I lost my front teeth-“ A heel in his shin cut him off. “Maybe another time,” he finished with a grunt. 

“Why doesn’t the director tell you everything? Doesn't he trust you?” Leo asked in an attempt to get the conversation back on track quickly since the car was already pulling off the gravel road. He turned in his seat to see the former S.S.R. base looked like it’d been abandoned at some point over the years. Time had turned their birthplace into a ruin. With the rotten wood planks, the rusted flagpole standing in the center of the research candidate training grounds

“It’s not because he doesn't trust us. It's because we trust _him_. The less we know, the less goes wrong if we’re compromised. It’s safer that way.” A slight frown could be seen in the rearview mirror as he thought that over. “Okay, maybe not safer for _us_ , but if you can’t handle S.H.I.E.L.D. leaving you out of the loop every now and then, then you’re in the wrong line of work.”

They all climbed out, with Raph being the last to have his feet on the ground because he’d insisted on sitting in the backseat. The reason he’d given was he couldn’t stand being sandwiched between his brothers in the middle, but Leo knew he’d spent the entire ride periodically scanning for any signs of a tail. It was just the way he was. It was also why the scientists had almost euthanized him. Before they'd learned how to speak, back when they were only the size of human toddlers, Raph wouldn’t stop biting the scientists when he saw their hands reaching to test on anyone other than him. None of the scientists could understand the aggressive behavior, but “attacking” them made him an obstacle. A disobedient, violent subject. A failure. 

But Raph wasn’t a failure. He was loyal and strong and protective and good. Everything they needed in their super soldiers, and one of the scientists, an inventor who’d grown attached to the tough little turtle with the attitude problem, worked everyday to convince the rest of Erskine’s team of that. And when that didn’t work, he threatened to quit, knowing they’d never complete the project without him. The scientists were aware, too, so they gave in to his demand that the euthanization be indefinitely postponed, on the condition that the turtles be placed in separate cages - they were growing too large to share one, anyway – and that he be responsible for taking them out when it was time for further experimentation. Not only did he readily agree, he started wearing thick gloves to work.

Thinking of him reminded Leo that not everything they’d experienced in the S.S.R. facility (or Camp Lehigh, as the sign on the gate called it) had been the awful or nightmare inducing. There were good memories mixed with the bad, so even if the base where they were raised now resembled the dilapidated set of a horror movie, that didn’t mean it was something to be afraid of. It was brick, stone, and dust. Nothing more. There were scarier things in the world than a few half forgotten memories. 

Raph, catching him staring, vacant and unfocused, in his direction, raised an eye ridge. “There something on my face, Leo?”

He shook himself. “Nah, you’re good. I thought I saw a cockroach,” Raph paled, seconds away from batting at his face, “but it was just a trick of the light.” With a flippant shrug and an almost imperceptible smirk, he headed off to join the others, ignoring the stream of frustrated grumbling he’d turned his back on.

While they regrouped - their weapons, including Don’s new naginata and Leo’s newly polished shield, already drawn and ready - Jones and O’Neil strode to the trunk, where they each picked up, disassembled, and quickly reassembled their guns with a deftness that only came from years of practice and muscle memory. In less than a minute, O’Neil had two pistols at her sides and Jones was holding a military grade sniper rifle. “From now on, we go by our codenames. Mine is Hawkeye. Hers is Black Widow. She’ll be going in there with you, because she knows more languages than I can count on my fingers and because there’s no one better to head into a potentially hostile situation with.”

“And where are you going, Ca- Hawkeye?” Raph asked when he started to move away. 

Around them, the boughs of the trees stood tall, unaffected by years of surrounding development. Jones regarded them with an appraising glance, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Someplace high.”

 

Static crackled out of the walkie-talkie’s speaker while Leonardo fiddled impatiently with the dial. _…ello? Come in, Cap. I’ve got eyes on you but no confirmation of communication._ There was a long, tense pause, then, _Any time now, guys._

It was the increasing note of concern in his tone that made O’Neil snatch the instrument from Leo’s fumbling hands with a snapped, “Give me that,” and say into the mouthpiece, “Black Widow here. We hear you loud and clear, Hawkeye.” The sniper’s sigh of relief traveled through the channel before they heard a soft, simple, _Good_. 

Something fond tugged at the corners of her mouth, melting down some of her frozen edges. It made the professional look a little more human. “This isn’t my first rodeo, Hawkeye.”

He huffed. “Just make sure you watch your six. 

“Funny. I could have sworn that’s what you were for.”

Raph rolled his eyes at the exchange. “You’d think those two would’ve gotten all their flirting out of their system back at S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Soon after Jones had run off to find a lookout point, Leo realized that a munitions storage unit, located towards the side of the barracks, was standing in the wrong place. Though they’d never gone outside enough in their time at the base to have a proper mental map of the area, army regulations stated that munitions could not be stored within five hundred yards of the barracks. Having one so close to them was practically a sign with the word _suspicious_ spelled out on it in blinking, neon letters. In a way, it was too obvious. Too easy. 

But they had to keep moving. Returning to S.H.I.E.L.D. with their tails tucked between their legs and nothing to show for the trip wasn’t an option. Had to earn their keep and all that.

As usual, Leo’s shield was more than enough to cut through the metal lock. Once they piled inside, though, the walkie shrieked, scaring them out of their skin, before cutting off abruptly. 

O’Neil tried to contact Hawkeye. “Hawkeye? Hawkeye?!” None of the channels worked. At best, all they got was static. “There must be a router down here. Explains why S.H.I.E.L.D.’s only picking up on this place now. It’s running on a private network.” 

They descended the stone steps in a single file line, hands running along the rusted railing so they wouldn’t trip or fall in the dark; Don flipped a switch and the ceiling lights hummed, unaccustomed to electricity flowing through them after so many years. By all rights, nothing should have worked. The air tasted stale, the light bulbs and internal wiring should have been long corroded, yet there they were, standing among desks and telephones, staring at a wall with a shielded bronze eagle, the prototypical emblem of S.H.I.E.L.D. It was as though they’d walked into an office after hours, when all the employees had already left, gone home to eat dinner with their families. 

Raph pulled a finger across the surface of the nearest desk. A quick glance at his fingertip revealed a reassuringly thick coat of dust. The room wasn’t recently occupied. It was just a well-preserved museum piece. 

Then again, the same could be said of them. 

O’Neil glanced around, searching for something that stood out as out of place or new, a trail of disturbed dust here, a footprint there. The lock had shown no signs of being tampered with, but this place had popped up on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar for a reason and it wasn’t because they needed new office furniture. 

Her gaze landed on a doorway draped on both sides with broken cobwebs. Air conditioning hadn’t kicked on since the base was abandoned, someone must have walked through them. She turned her head to see the other turtles examining the emblem, a look of child-like wonder on their faces. “This must be where it all started,” the leader muttered, his hand brushing some of the dust off the tips of the eagle’s wings. 

Before she could get their attention, the turtle in the purple mask noticed her staring, and pulled his brothers away with a wave and a brusque, “Come on. We’re not here to sightsee. Let’s just get this mission over with and go back.”

It saved her the trouble of calling them over herself, but something about the abrupt change in his demeanor worried her. She’d speak with the director about it after the mission. The last thing they wanted was for the soldier - the boy in the purple mask to become too upset. Honestly, he never should’ve left S.H.I.E.L.D. His transformations was unpredictable, uncontrollable, and so far outside the margin of acceptable risk it practically ran circles around it. 

If they took him along, there was a chance he’d change and blow the mission. If they tired to separate him for his brothers, who likely wouldn’t cooperate without him, the chance of transformation became a nigh certainty. 

He strode past her, careful not to brush against her, then froze in his tracks. Immediately, his brothers were by his side. “Donnie, what-“ On the wall, a few black and white portraits of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s founders were hung. The first was of an older man, a general. Next to the first was a man with dark hair, a thick mustache, and an air of confidence that bordered on audacity. He smiled like he was posing for the cover of Forbes magazine. 

And April O'Neil would recognize that grin, anywhere. “That’s-“

“Howard Stark.” Leo interrupted. “The inventor.” He glanced at Raph, wondering if he recognized him. 

Raph grinned, thinking of the time Howard sprayed whipped cream in his mouth to freak out his coworkers. "That guy was a real piece of work." He approached the crooked frame, righted it, then took a step back so he could raise his hand in a close fisted salute. “Thanks, man. You did a lot for me.” Lowering his fist, he momentarily forgot he wasn't with his brothers and muttered, “I never really got a to repay him for saving my life.”

April debated putting a hand on his shoulder, hesitated, then thought better of it. “I’d say you already have. Reports say he never gave up on searching for you three. And now you’re working to protect the organization he dedicated his life to building. I’d say you’ve done more than enough.” It didn’t matter if he believed her; sometimes hearing encouraging words from a stranger was enough. Sometimes, it was easier to believe them that way. 

Leo stepped towards the third frame, within which a picture of a young woman with pin straight, glossy back hair, a pale face, and glittering eyes could be seen. Instead of a full-blown smile, one side of her mouth was quirked in a subtle smirk, as though she were enjoying some private joke she had no intention of sharing. She looked just like the director. 

He lingered there, still, his mouth pressed together in a firm line, until his brothers placed their hands on his shoulders. “Time to go, Leo.”

He ducked his head, took a deep breath, and whispered, “I know.” Then he suddenly straightened, pulling away with an air of sureness that had them all following after him. There was a stack of shelves in front of where he came to an abrupt halt, a spattering of books with yellowed pages lining each of them. Now that they were this close a whistle of moving air could be heard. Moving air. Underground. 

Instead of opening it, he stepped back. “Why don’t you do the honors, Don? I know how much you like secret doors.”

“Sure. I love finding secret doors. It’s finding the secret doors of crazy people who tried to kill us in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s literal basement that I’m not exactly thrilled about.” Despite his grumbling, he gripped the edges of the shelf and pulled. 

It came away from the wall, screeching noisily as its bottom scraped against the floor. Raph shrugged. “Well, if no one comes to kill us after that, I think we can assume we’re safe.”

“I wouldn't be so sure.” O'Neil replied, her thumb stroking the smooth doors of the newly exposed elevator. “Those other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents probably thought the same thing, but something or someone made them disappear.”

He looked at her like she expected him to believe a ghost had taken them. “You know what? You’re right. Why don’t we start flailing our arms and screaming? Just to be sure.”

Ignoring them, Leo and Donnie pried the doors open, allowing them all to enter, though it was a little cramped with four, even if three of them were smaller than average adult human. The sight that greeted them once April input the code and the doors slid open was somehow exactly what they’d been looking for, and yet not at all what they’d expected. Nearly every inch of this new room, from the floor to the ceiling, was stacked with data processors, monitors, and computer screens. The technology was outdated, obsolete, bulky and forgotten. None of it should have been active.

But it was. 

Tapes turned, spinning. Machinery hummed, buzzed, purred in the dimly light room. Where was it getting its power? Why hadn’t anyone turned it off? 

“This is incredible,” Don breathed, awe coloring his tone as curiosity lifted his spirits once more. He spun around slowly, taking everything in all the whirring gears, trying to divine a purpose, a reason. “There’s enough memory space in this room alone to house-“

Before he could finish his thought, a smug, German accented voice finished it for him. “A human mind. Isn’t that right, Dontello?” Recognizing the voice even through its mechanical filter, Don stumbled backwards, crashing into a monitor, one hand grasping at his plastron where the ghost of the wound Zola’s bug had caused him when it slashed through him throbbed and pulsed. Raph shouted for him, rushing to his side to make sure he was okay. “Be careful, you ridiculous creature,” said an image of Zola’s head, formed by strings of green code flickering on the multitude of computer screens. Two soulless black pits filled the outline of his glasses, glaring out at them with all the contempt he had in life. “These 2,000 feet of data banks are my consciousness. You are standing in my brain.”

Leo frowned at his feet. “Well, that’s gross.” There was a sound of metal splitting, followed by a crackle of sparks and a low, dark chuckle. Green pixels gathered in the television screens to form the unsettling green outline of Zola’s face as he screamed with rage, Leo turned sharply to see Raph standing by one of the monitors, his sais plunged hilt deep into the machine. 

“Oops.” He made sure to pull out his weapons as roughly as possible, flashing a wide, toothy grin. “That must have hurt.”

“You imbecile!” Zola screamed. “I am HYDRA’s best scientist! Have you no curiosity? Is there not an intelligent bone in your body?” The sais went back into the monitor. "Ah! Have you not even wondered how this came to be?”

Shrugging, Raph admitted that he didn’t really care.

“It was Operation: Paperclip.” April said, looking shaken. “S.H.I.E.L.D. brought over German scientists after the war. It… He was valuable. And it was better to keep him close than to-”

“Let him rot in a jail?” Don interjected, fists clenched and shaking at his sides as he fought to keep his temper under control. The result was he spoke with such careful control that the simmering rage beneath it became all the more obvious, ratcheting up the tension in the room. “I think we all know what the better course of action would have been. We’re staring at Zola’s talking head right now because S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t take it.”

Sheathing his weapons for the moment, Raph said, “It’s like purposely putting a worm in a perfectly good apple.”

The assortment of pixels that shaped Zola’s face nodded. “That is a surprisingly astute observation. Just as a worm would rot an apple from the inside, I have inserted HYDRA into S.H.I.E.L.D.” His image shifted, following April as she stepped closer, a steady hand hovering over the holster of her gun. “All these years, you thought you were protecting this country, Fraulein, protecting innocents, when you were truly serving our interests. “ Newspaper articles streamed down the screen like some sort of demented film reel, depicting scenes of war and carnage. Riots. “We have fed the fire throughout history. Now, the world would willingly relinquish its freedom in exchange for security.”

“Yeah, okay,” Raph interrupted, “We took you down before and we’ll do it again.”

“And we’ll come back stronger than ever. Cut off one head,” his head split, duplicating itself, “two will take its place. All of your sacrifices,” an old newspaper featuring a report of their death, filled every screen in the room, followed by different sections that referred to a car crash that killed the inventor and his wife. And as much as they didn’t want to believe what Zola was implying, it almost made more sense than the public belief that one of the world’s most brilliant engineers had died in something as mundane as a car accident, “all of your struggles,” after those came an old, colorless film clips of Dr. Erskine’s initial experiments. They flinched, shaken by the echoes of their own tortured screams. “We won, Captain.” Leo clenched his jaw, willing his arms to remain steady at his sides because he wouldn’t give Zola the satisfaction of seeing him tremble. “Anything you’ve ever done, has helped to bring Hydra to the position of power it now occupies. From the beginning, you were made to be our pawns. Nothing belongs to you. Not your lives, and certainly not your deaths.”

Having finally had enough, Leo took a step forward, his hands gripped around the hilts of his katana, only for Donnie to rush past him in a blur of motion, thrusting his naginata through Zola’s right eye. 

“For a dead guy,” Raph commented as he jogged towards them, eyeing his younger brother warily as he yanked his weapon out without a word, “he sure talked a lot.”

“And I will continue doing so, young terrapins.” As it turned out, Zola, or what was left of him, refused to be silenced. His visage popped up on a different, higher computer, not entirely out of Donnie’s reach but his point was made. Two of the three brothers groaned at the sight, while the last tightened his grip around his weapon until the wood creaked, knuckles going bloodless. The only way to shut Zola up would be to destroy every machine in sight, and though the thought of it didn’t actually bother Raphael in the slightest, it was a waste of time.

Rather than follow Donnie’s example and turn Zola into an electronic shisha kabob, Leo forced himself to calm down, ”Alright, there’s something you’ve been wanting to tell us, isn’t there?” HYDRA didn’t just hand out information without some sort of agenda. “Well, go ahead. You wanted our attention? You’ve got it.”

Still photos of a helicarrier’s underbelly replaced the German scientist. Automated machine guns moved to face them, seemingly following HYDRA’s orders. “That’s Project Insight,” O’Neil muttered with audible dread. “Those helicarriers belong to S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

“What is HYDRA planning, Zola?” Leo demanded. “What’s their next move?”

With his image once more moving in front of them, Zola said with an air of finality, and maybe even a trace of resignation, “I would tell you, but I am afraid... we are all out of time.”

Behind them, the iron doors began to close over the elevator, locking them in. Leo threw his shield in an attempt to jam them, only for it to miss the opening by a fraction of a second and ricochet off the walls, shooting off sparks until Leo leapt to catch it.  
There was an urgent, repeated ping coming from O'Neil’s cellphone. She flipped it open, staring at the screen with wide, frightened eyes as the blood drained from her face. “We’ve got a missile incoming.”

“Who fired it?” 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. It’ll be here in thirty seconds. If we're lucky.”

Having heard enough, Leo rushed to the back, tossing the tables, throwing the computers and monitors, searching for something. Anything. They didn’t survive being frozen in ice for nearly a century so they could die underground. They’d survived the Shredder. They’d survived the crash. They were going to survive this. 

It didn’t take long for Raph to catch on. He always knew when Leo was onto something. Together, they found a grate, ripped it off its hinges, and Donnie, his instincts kicking in, grabbed O’Neil by the waist, lifted her up, and leapt into what he hoped wouldn’t wind up being their concrete tomb. Raph followed, with Leo jumping as the building exploded around them, his shield raised high over his head. Light and noise and debris crushed him, slamming into his shield all at once, and he cried out from the sheer agony of holding up so much weight. But he didn’t lower his arm. He didn’t falter. He held it until it felt like his bones was going to snap in two and even then he didn’t stop. 

Fire rained down around them; dust and smoke and ash clouding the air, entering their lungs, stinging and hot. Eventually, with a final echoing boom, the lights went out, the sound replaced by a silence that belonged in a grave. 

Grunting, Leo kicked a large slab of stone away from them. “Is everyone alright? Any injuries?" A pause, then,"Any missing body parts?”

“Actually, I think I might have lost a finger or two. I’m only counting three on each hand.”

“Good to know you’re okay, Raph.”

He turned to see Donnie checking over Agent O’Neil. She looked dazed, out of it, barely even conscious. Her head lolled to the side, one eye opening a sliver to see the entire building had been laid to waste. “Casey,” she croaked, desperately turning her head as much as she could manage, as though he were somehow standing on the very edges of her line of sight. “He’s still out there.”

Spotlights shone in the distance, steadily getting closer, searching for them. The timing was too convenient. There was no way those belonged to the cavalry. They belonged to the cleanup crew. 

Doing his best to convey the urgency of the situation without giving away their position, he gestured for his brothers to stay low. Then gestured again, waving them forward. 

He moved first, crouched as close to the ground as he could manage, keeping to the shadows. He didn’t check to see if his brothers were following. He didn’t have to. When the stakes were down, they followed him without question, shifting without thought into the triangular formation they’d adopted in an attempt to cover each other’s weak spots. And since Agent O’Neil, who they suspected was suffering from a concussion, was still too weak to walk, Don carried her on his back. 

A shadow flitted over a jagged piece of rubble nearby; they held their breaths, hoping more than anything that they wouldn’t have to fight in their condition. Preparing for the worst, Leo widened his stance. If he could take the assailant out as quickly as possible, maybe the others wouldn’t notice. Maybe.

There was a quiet cough, a clearing of the throat, and then, “Guys, it’s me. Hawkeye.” Glancing at the swords uncomfortably close to his midsection, he gulped, adding, “Please don’t stab me with anything.“ Donnie shifted his weight, drawing Casey’s attention. “April!” He ran to her side, checking her pulse. “What the hell happened in there?”

“What happened?” Raph shot back with quiet acid, furious that he had to keep his voice down when circumstances warranted the loudest chewing out in history. “Your group nearly killed us. That’s what happened!”

“We’ll explain in the car, but for now, she needs medical attention - fast - and we have to get out of here before anyone finds us.” Thinking of the director, the first person he’d thought he might be able put his faith since he woke up in this new world, Leo added grimly, “We don’t know who we can trust now.”

Technically, that included the agents S.H.I.E.L.D. had sent to supervise them. Realizing this, and taking note of the sudden tension in the atmosphere as the three turtles contemplated this dilemma; Casey put up his hands, keeping them as far away for his guns as possible for the sake of his edgy, and suddenly very suspicious company, though his voice came out hard as he whispered harshly, “Look, I don't care if you don’t trust me,” the leader narrowed his eyes, a warning, “though I would like to say that that missile almost killed me, too.” He held up a smoking strand of hair for emphasis. “And you can always finish the job later if you have to, but right now, she needs help, you have to escape, and I think I’m safe in assuming none of you have a driver’s license.”

He was right. None of them had ever sat in the driver’s seat before, unless they counted that time they crashed HYDRA’s helicarrier. And, if memory served, that was still lying at the bottom of the ocean. Regardless of whether he could be trusted, they needed him.

“Well,” Raph said with a resigned shrug, “it’s not like we were just gonna leave him here, anyways. 

“Oh, hey, that’s great news, because-“ An alarm went off in Leo’s mind, the same alarm that let him know when one of his brothers planned to attack his back during a spar, the instinct that helped him track their movements with his eyes closed, and he leapt towards Casey, pushing him out of the way as a bullet bit into the rock directly behind where his head used to be. 

Glancing back at the bullet burrowed deep into the stone with a few years shaved off his life, Casey started moving. “Someone knows where we are. Time to run.”

The ground shifted beneath their feet as they jogged, still desperately trying not to draw attention to themselves. One sniper wasn’t a picnic, that was for sure, but it was survivable. 

“Raph,” Leo barked, “cover Donnie. Casey, stay with me.” A shot, uncomfortably close, kicked up a plume of dirt a few yards away from their only method of escape. The car was right in front of them, covered in a grey layer of powdered debris but still functional. 

No longer caring if they were discovered since missing this chance would kill them, anyway, Casey pulled out a pistol, fired off a few shots in the direction he’d estimated the last two shots had come from, and waited. 

Something moved in the smoke, flitting behind the trees like a ghost. 

And since last he checked, he was still an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, Casey announced to the three boys he’d been charged with protecting, the ones who could have left his partner to die but didn’t, who could have turned their backs on their country, because they’d already given it everything, and instead stood in searing heat and smoke because that choice had been taken from them, taken the moment the turtle -the soldier in the purple mask had a secondary mutation forced upon him. And now he was about to take another one. “I’ll hold him off. While I’m keeping him busy, you three get Widow into that car and go.”

Seething, Raph took a step forward, his sais glittering with the light of the flames around them. “That’s dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard a lot of dumb things. You think I’m gonna sacrifice you to save my own skin? Not a chance! We’re all getting out of here!” No one else was going to die.

April let a quiet, pained moan, forcing herself to raise her head as she slurred, “I’m not leaving either, you jerk.”

Out of all them, Leo thought wryly, she was the only one who _really_ needed to leave. He looked at Donnie, silently asking him for his opinion, and when his younger brother lifted his shoulders in a largely noncommittal shrug, when his mouth twitched in a much more telling smirk, Leo knew what his opinion on the matter was. It made the decision unanimous. “Looks like Raph’s right, for once. We leave together or not at all.” 

A projectile flew from the woods, slamming into the car with enough force to lift it off the ground on a pillar of fire, sending it rolling. Flames gushed from its ceiling and shattered windows, throwing more moving shadows across the dirt and grass. Leo took that in for a moment. “Well… let’s hope for the best.” 

Raph rolled his eyes. “If we survive this, remind me to strangle him.” 

A figure stalked out from the tree line, emerging from the dark as though he was born from it. Black armor covered every inch of his skin, adding to the illusion, with only the silver prosthetic grafted to his shoulder where his left arm should have been, and a crimson star, which marked the man as part of the long dissolved Soviet Union, to give him any color at all. His skin was light, not deathly pale but greenish, something the brothers dismissed as a trick of the light. From a distance, he looked thick, bulky, but he moved with a lightness that suggested his bones were hollow.

Without waiting for Leo to give the order, Raphael charged forward to engage the unknown enemy with a wordless cry of challenge, his sais drawn, ready to taste blood. 

Leo, seeing the rifle slung over the sniper’s back, shouted a warning, and Raph pulled back, gritting his teeth, because while he was confident that he could win in hand-to-hand and knew and was second only to Leo when it came to spars, that didn’t change the reality that bringing blades to a gun fight just wasn’t an intelligent move. 

And either the ex-Soviet didn’t notice or didn’t care, because his stride never slowed down, always efficient, never a single movement wasted. It was like watching a machine, something fearless, merciless, unstoppable. However, when he reached back to unsling the rifle, a sai clipped the visor over his eyes, cracking them. Had he not dodged at the last second, it would have gone straight through his skull. He slipped off the goggles, tossing the equipment without a pause in his step, though Raph could have sworn he sensed a spike of irritation, which he counted as a small victory.

Then the soldier was in front of him, slamming an armored elbow into Raph’s beak with enough force to break bone. He stumbled back, cursing furiously under his breath.

While he was distracted, Casey notched an arrow. A flash bang. “Cover your eyes!” It plunged into the ground, inches from the soldier's feet, and then the night vanished, replaced by an agonizing white. 

He blinked rapidly, knowing he only had a few seconds to get his bearings before the soldier regained the advantage because April had told him about this man, this monster. He wasn’t supposed to be real, just a scary story passed around the Red Room - a legend to aspire to, a ghost story for even the greatest assassins to fear. 

He took a step forward, a stunning arrow ready, when pain shot through his leg like someone jamming a hot poker into his calf. 

He was trained, he was tough, he was good; it took a lot to bring him down.

As it happened, having a bullet burn into his leg at close range was a _lot_. He went from standing to lying on the ground so fast it took him a dizzying moment to process what happened. Then he noticed the Winter Soldier looming over him; the barrel of his rifle aimed steadily at his forehead, and snarled with a manic, teeth-baring grin carved on his face, “Bring it, Spooky.”

There was a clang as metal hit metal and the soldier recoiled, pushed back by the force of the bullets pounding his armor. “Get away from him,” April growled from her position on the ground, two pistols gripped in her raised arms. And despite everything, even the certainty of death still standing not a foot away from him, Casey was once again reminded of not only how amazing she was, but how proud he was of her. She’d come a long way from the scared little kid he’d been assigned to kill. Offering her a job back then had definitely been the right call. 

“Go, Donnie!” A flash of green leapt over her, then the turtle in the purple mask was there, right in front of him, slamming the business end of his staff against the Winter Soldier’s skull and then throwing him over his shoulders. For a reason Casey couldn’t comprehend until he got his first clear look at the Winter Soldier, the blade was retracted. 

Then he did. He saw what Don must have noticed and suppressed the urge to say things under his breath that would have made children cry. Because the Winter Soldier wasn’t thick. He was small, and way too young to bear the Red Star on his arm. And if he was green, it wasn’t because it was sickly, though he definitely wasn’t as green as he probably should have been. 

The Winter Soldier had a shell. A turtle shell. 

Rolling on his side, Casey tried to pinpoint where the others were. Leo was keeping a wary eye on the battle, standing guard over by April and what looked like a few surviving parts of their car, which was definitely going to come out of Casey’s paycheck if he ever got another one. Meanwhile, Raph was standing nearby as Don grappled with the soldier, waiting for his chance to jump in. He’d had time to retrieve the sai he’d thrown before, and now he aimed it at the soldier’s throat. 

It launched through the air, fast but not fast enough. The soldier already had a hand out to catch it, except he didn’t have to. Don swatted it out of the air.

“Donnie, what are you-”

“Don’t interfere, Raph! Just keep an eye on Hawkeye! I can handle this!” And maybe he could. It was obvious he was angry, furious even, but it was equally obvious that he was keeping a lid on that anger. Reluctantly, Raph agreed to let him have the fight, if only in the hope that it would do him some good. 

Icy blue eyes narrowed with annoyance, the first blatant sign of emotion the soldier had shown since he'd arrived on the scene. He leapt over the head of the taller turtle, with the whirring sound of hydraulics coming from his cybernetic arm kicking into overdrive. At the highest point of a jump that would have dropped the jaw of an Olympic gymnast, the tip of the soldier’s head passed less than an inch over Donatello’s. If either of them had grown a head of hair, they would have been touching. Then time sped up and he was on the ground, his fingers gripped around the curved edge of Don’s shell, sending him rocketing through the air with all the ease of throwing a baseball. 

Before he could hit the ground, Donnie jammed his staff into the dirt, more than willing to let the rocks and building fragments grind down the wood if it meant he could reenter the fight. When he finally came to a stop, it was to see the soldier staring at him with an undeniably pained expression. 

And more than anything, Donnie found himself wanting to know why. 

“I know what you’re thinking, Donnie,” Leo called at his back. “But that’s not him.” He gestured back to the ruins of their birthplace. “They – or someone else - probably repeated the process. Dr. Erskine said the world would want their own super soldiers."

Except Dr. Erskine was dead. The serum died with him. 

After a moment of deliberation, Leo tossed his shield to his younger brother, who caught it deftly in one hand, then glanced with a grimace down at it, at what it meant. “Complete the mission. Take him down and we all go home. We can figure out where he came from later.”

As usual, their fearless leader was right. Don turned back to the fight, determined to end it, when his legs were swept out from under him. He rolled, ducking to dodge the bullets kicking up pockets of dirt around his head. With a furious cry, he locked his legs around the soldier, twisting, bringing one of his knees to the ground. It wasn’t the defenseless, sprawled out position he’d been hoping for, but he made it work. He bashed the soldier in the face, taking momentary triumph in the way his head snapped back at the blow. Then a fist smashed against Leo’s shield with enough force to send strong vibrations traveling down his arm. A foot was planted against Donnie’s chest, knocking him backwards. He jabbed, ducked, swerved back and forth, desperate to find a weak side, a blind spot, something he could use to win. 

Jones was clutching his leg, struggling to stem the fluid weeping from the wound, O'Neil couldn’t stand, Raph’s face was bloodied from the initial blow he took from a fist that could land a direct hit on a Vibranium shield without shattering, and it wouldn’t be long before the soldier’s reinforcements arrived.

Chest heaving, Donnie extracted the blade of his naginata, though he still had no intention of killing the soldier. Even if he was an enemy, he was still a mutant turtle. He was one of them. And that was the only reason he didn’t want to hurt him, let alone kill him. It had absolutely nothing to do with the exhausted, sunken blue eyes that burned out of smeared black grease, nothing to do with the painfully familiar energy buzzing below the surface of his movements. It had nothing to do with how much fighting him felt _right_ , like sparring with his little brother, and _wrong_ , because Mikey would never hurt their friends like this, would never attack his family like this. 

It wasn’t him.

Suddenly, the shield was torn away from him. There was a crushing pressure on his throat, his brothers screaming his name, and Don knew they were running to help, knew they’d be too late. So he looked at the face of his killer, determined not to flinch, and saw a kid, no older than he was, so hopelessly confused it nearly drove him to tears.  
Deciding he wasn’t going to die before he saw who was behind the mask, Don gripped both sides of it, planted his feet on the soldier's chest, and threw everything he had into using the his own weight to pry it off. As a result, the soldier was launched into the air, landing safely on his feet as the mask fell from Donnie’s hands, lying forgotten in the ash. 

_“Mikey?”_

 

His little brother, the one he thought was _dead_ , heard the name and quickly turned to face him, finally seeing him, except there wasn't a speck of recognition to be found. He was looking right at him, with no idea who he was. With a voice rendered hoarse from disuse, he asked with only mild interest, “Who’s Mikey?” 

And Donnie didn’t move. Not even when the pistol came up, pointing straight between his eyes, not even when Raph joined the battle, knocking the gun out of Mikey’s hands, and then stopping, his entire body grinding to a sudden halt because there's a face looking back at him that he never expected to see again. Not while he was alive, at least.

And then Leo’s dragging Donnie away, and he's shouting something strangled and scared and awful, but Donnie can’t hear any of it because he’s too busy screaming, _Let go of me! That’s him! That’s Mikey! He’s alive, Leo! We have to help him. We can’t leave him behind. Not again. I can’t lose him again!_

And behind that, behind the frantic relief, is a directionless rage threatening to consume him, the same anger he's been dealing with since S.H.I.E.L.D. brought him out of the ice, except it's not directionless, anymore. Someone took Mikey, the same Mikey who liked to dance and sing and tell bad jokes, who cheered them up with a prank or a terrible pun when circumstances got too heavy to handle, who defused tension and made friends like he was born to bring happiness into the world, and they turned him into a weapon. Someone stole him from them, turned him against them, and forced him to become something he wasn't. Cold. Ruthless. Empty. And when Don found those responsible , he was going to tear them apart.

A van pulled up beside Mikey, separating him from Raph before the latter could finish processing the truth that was standing right in front of him. Revelations like that took time to process, but time was one thing they didn't have. There was a man in the driver’s seat wearing a completely unremarkable, if impeccably pressed suit, and donning sunglasses despite the fact that the sun wasn’t going to be in the sky for another few hours. Their lenses reflected the surrounding destruction as he exchanged a few words in Russian with their little brother, straightened his tie, then flashed a smirk reeking with smugness in their direction. 

“Did you do this?!” Donnie screamed, fighting off the arms restraining him. “What did you do to him?!” Instead of answering, the man opened the passenger door for Mikey to climb in, handing him a new rifle to hold when they all knew that Mikey hated guns.

Scarlet claimed his vision, drowning everything in red. His teeth grew to pointed fangs in his mouth, muscles swelled, stretching his skin to its breaking point, snapping tendons, and all while Mikey observed him dispassionately through the car door's open window, not a trace of emotion on his face. 

The others, seeing his transformation was already underway, panicked. His cheek stung. 

The pain didn’t calm him, though. It only amplified the already maxed out production of adrenaline in his system, accelerating the change. His unnatural strength allowed him to finally tear free of Leo’s grasp, refusing to be close to him when he completed the change. And there really was nothing he could do to stop it now. S.H.I.E.L.D. itself was broken, there would never be a cure. His brothers were risking their lives for a pipe dream. Regardless of what he wanted, he was going to be a monster for the rest of his life, and if that was the case, then he might as well act the part and bite off the head of the man that turned his little brother into a weapon. 

Soldierbrother _mikey_ curled his finger around the trigger of a rifle. It wasn't, Don noticed distantly, the same rifle he'd accepted from the man in the driver's seat. There was a soft _pop_ and Don felt a sting in his neck. Another _pop_. Another sting.

He slowed down, suddenly woozy. Clawing at his neck, he tried to dislodge whatever was sticking out of it, seeping his strength.

Stumbling as the drug took effect, he reached a trembling hand out to the soldier staring back at him, searching his face for some sign that his little brother was still in him, still a part of him. That it wasn't too late to save him. The world slipped away to the sound of multiple chambers filling. 

 

_For the first time since he can remember, the mission isn’t his priority. Instead, he's thinking about the tall, mutated turtle with the despairing brown eyes, the turtle in the blue mask who stopped in his tracks, who recognized him, and the turtle in red, who looked so relievedhopefulhappy to see him, and it stirs something deep in his chest, an almost painful, itching feeling of familiarity. He knows, somehow, that he’s seen them before, those creatures who look like him._

_“You haven’t.” Bishop tells him, then in the same breath, “It is time to give me your mission report.”_

_HYDRA agents, the ones who are new and expendable, swarm around him, checking his arm for damages, cataloguing lost or irreparable equipment. Since he’s in the middle of a conversation and his head’s already swimming with thoughts and feelings he can’t name, let alone process, he throws one across the room. “I knew them.” He says again, stronger this time._

_Bishop sighs. He's disappointed in him. Straps come down over his hands, a mouth guard is placed between his teeth, and he knows what’s coming next. He hates what’s coming next._

The vehicle swerved to the right as one of the captured mutants screamed himself awake.


	6. Battle Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This is the story of a dreamer, a soldier, with the weight of the world upon his shoulders, who's got a little room to grow. Better days are near. Hope is so much stronger than fear._

Casey Jones was no stranger to war. 

His sister was a bright kid, got full rides to a few colleges and a university, but when he found out she’d applied to Harvard without telling him and been accepted, something he found out by pure chance while shuffling through a stack of envelopes for the bills, he'd signed up for the military the next day. As a result, he sent her to one of the best schools in existence, and lost the hearing in his left ear. It wasn’t too long after his date with the IED that his sister called up, threatening to drop out if he didn’t get a safer job.

Well, the whole reason he was so close to the IED was because he'd been taken by surprise. They were escorting a billionaire; Casey had sat in the passenger’s seat while the members of his squad sitting in the back took selfies and asked for autographs. Considering how miserable their days in the hot desert usually were, the billionaire’s quick wit and fairly genial attitude were a well appreciated break. Then there was a flash, a rush of sound so hard and fast he heard it ringing in his ears until there was an agonizing pop and the sound left one of them completely, and the van toppled over. Then the gun fire started, and he was doing everything he could to take out as many of the enemy as he could, because every life of theirs was one more of his men going home. 

When the smoke cleared, the billionaire was gone. Casey dragged three of his wounded behind the RV, contacted the base for back up, and waited with his finger on the trigger until help arrived. He didn’t know how many men he'd killed. He only knew how many soldiers he'd lost. 

Not long after he recovered, Director Hamato of SHIELD offered him a job with more than enough money to support his sister, more than their father had ever provided for them in his life. As far as Casey was concerned, it was safer, safer than going back for another tour, at least. And as far as his sister was concerned, he was working a boring, well paying office job. 

Which was why she absolutely could never know he’d been captured by Hydra. She’d drop out for sure. Then she'd skin him alive.

He cast a worried glance his partner's way. He knew enough about concussions to know sleeping them off wasn’t really the recommended treatment for them, but every time he shifted to wake her the Hydra goons guarding them raised their guns.

The captain – or Leo, as Casey was beginning to think of him as – barely flinched. He'd had this empty, hollow look to his eyes ever since they’d barely survived the Winter Soldier, and Casey didn’t know what personal hell he was putting himself through in that thick skull of his, but he knew they didn’t have time for it. They had to be searching for an opportunity to escape, not meditating on their failures. Wherever Hydra was taking them, chances were good they didn’t want to be there.

“Hey,” he said finally, directing the words at Hydra goons, “can you pull this van over? I think I’m getting a little car sick.” The wound on his leg was still sending occasional waves up agony to his brain, so it wasn’t hard to look pale and possibly on the verge of throwing up. 

Immediately, one of them growled for him to be silent. Well, obviously they didn’t know him that well. Time to fix that.

He mustered a charming smile. “Listen, guys, I just really-“

Almost as if on cue, he was rudely interrupted by Leo and Raph clutching their heads in synchronized agony. At the same time, Donatello startled out of his drugged sleep with a bloodcurdling scream. 

The Hydra soldier who hadn’t spoken yet knocked the rifle out of the other’s hands, then slammed his head back so his helmet banged against the metal wall, knocking him out.

Casey tensed, torn between curiosity and the burning knowledge that every member of his team was incapacitated. It’d be up to him if it came down to a fight… something his leg strongly suggested was about as smart as heading into a boss fight with 1 HP.

Then the Hydra goon removed his helmet. “Hey, Jones,” the woman with sweat-drenched purple hair said, grinning impishly at the sight of his dumbfounded expression, “I take it you’re happy to see me?”

Relief bubbled out of him in the form of a chuckle. “Never been this happy to see you before in my life, Irma.” He held up his cuffs. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

They went to the only place that would take three mutants, three agents, and the former, supposedly dead, director of SHIELD. 

“Hello,” the answering machine at the doorbell said with an impeccable British accent, “you’ve reached the residence of Tony Stark. He is occupied at the moment, and so I am afraid I must ask that you please return at another time.”

Raph stomped up to the door with a growl, “Now see here, you glorified telegram, we’re not leaving until-“

Yoshi placed a hand on his shoulder, comforting and restraining all at once. “Please forgive my friend. He’s had a rough few days and has just received some rather upsetting news. Could you please tell Mr. Stark that the director of SHIELD is here to see him?”

“Of course, sir. I am sure he will be curious as to how it is that you are still alive.”

 

While Casey and Irma worked together to keep April from slumping all the way to the ground, Raphael repeatedly pressed the doorbell. “Come on, what’s taking this guy so long?”

“I don’t know, Raph, but I’m sure the fact that he lives in a skyscraper has absolutely nothing to do with it.” Raph stared hard at Leo, then bashed the doorbell with a closed fist.

“I’m coming!” An irritated voice called from inside, followed by a man striding quickly towards the door, wearing a close fitting long sleeved shirt that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a gym if it weren’t for the wires streaming from it and the patches stuck to his temples. 

Despite the gravity of the situation, Director Hamato’s lips quirked up at the sight of him. “Trying to turn yourself into a cyborg again, Mr. Stark?” 

Tony swung open to door, a retort ready on his tongue, when he noticed three clothed and armed turtles the size of children, and three agents, one of whom was barely conscious. He took a moment to point at the closest challenge to his current view of reality. Raph frowned at the finger in his face. “Explain.”

“Why don’t you allow us to come in first? Agent O’Neil could use a rest. We all could.” 

He nodded mutely, a first, moved aside, then pointed out as the band of misfits marched past him, “This kind of goes above and beyond the job description of a consultant, doesn’t it? Actually,” he eyed the director suspiciously, “you’re all wanted for stealing national secrets or something like that. Armed and dangerous are the words I believe used to describe you.”

After laying April down on the couch, Casey stood shakily on his good leg, his gaze fixed on the three turtles who’d hung towards the back, each of them way too quiet, and said, “Listen, you’re really doing us a solid here, and I wish I could say you owe me one, but you don't owe me anything. You don’t owe my men, anything.”

“They died protecting me,” Tony reminded him as he pored himself a drink at the bar, “I owe them a lot.”

“Okay, but I didn’t. Still, we need your hel-“

“Don’t think I don’t know about your ear, Agent Jones. I'd hoped paying off your sister’s student loans would...” Casey’s mouth dropped, eyes bugging out in his head. Looking unsure for a moment, Tony added with a touch of nervousness, “Was, uh, that not a good thing?”

Irma glanced between them as Casey’s face reached a nasty shade of red. “You paid off her loans?! Who asked you to do that?! What? Am I supposed to thank you now?” If given the chance to speak, Tony would have noted that while he hadn’t paid off the loans expecting gratitude, getting his head bitten off for it seemed a little extreme.

Instead, Irma stepped between them. “Look, he’s grateful, okay? But the whole reason he joined up with the military and then with us was so he could pay for her education, get it? So try to forgive him if it’s not immediately apparent.” She turned on Casey, who quickly lost grip on his anger under the heat of her stern glare. “And you better save your righteous indignation for later, because we have more important things to worry about than your pride.”

Once they had all settled their difference, and Casey grudgingly thanked him for the Stark scholarship, the inventor led the three turtles back to a separate room to give them some space. “My father told me about you. He said you,” here he fixed an amused smirk on the turtle in the red mask, “in particular had a lot of spunk. I can appreciate that in anyone.”

Donnie frowned. “You’re not weirded out by…” he gestured to his hands and feet, though the implication was clear. 

"It's definitely going to take some getting used to, but it doesn't bother me. I just hope I look as good as you three when I hit my seventies." 

He stopped in front of the second to last room in the hallway. “This room used to be mine when I was a kid, but I guess it works fine as a guest room. If you need separate rooms, there’s plenty more…” He trailed off when the boys simultaneously shook their heads, their faces going a few shades lighter at the thought of being separated right then. “Okay, that’s fine. If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen, blessing the others with my presence.”

Once he was gone, Donnie sank onto the bed like his legs couldn’t hold him anymore. “We left him, Leo.” And they’d known this was coming, but knowing and hearing were two very different things. “He was alive but we didn’t look for him. We didn’t even try.”

“We didn’t have the time, Donnie. You know that.” Leo sat down next to him, momentarily surprised by the way the mattress curved to his form. “ We didn’t know he was alive.”

It must have been their mutation. It allowed him to survive the fall, somehow. 

So quiet Leo had to lean in closer to hear it, Donnie whispered, “I did. I’ve felt him ever since I woke up. And he’s suffering, Leo. He’s suffering and alone and I don’t know how to help because,” his voice choked off into a sob, “he doesn’t know who I am!”

Reacting on instinct, Leo pulled him in for a hug, letting Donnie cry out some of the pain and anger and grief he’d been building up inside. Meanwhile, Raphael contented himself with staying close to the two of them, watching over them. 

Their family was broken, fractured in ways that would never be fixed. But regardless of the time or the place or situation, they were alive. All of them. And as long as that was true, they’d be whole again. He had to believe that.

 

Later, Raph decided to explore the maze their host designed. It was just one hallway after another, and they all were filled with the same: shiny metal walls, no pictures. It was so clean one could even call it empty.

Behind him, someone cleared his throat. “It’s fine if you make yourself at home here, but it’s kind of easy to get lost in these hallways. Not forever, but from what the director’s told me, you have a bit of a deadline on your hands. With literal death on the line.”

Not believing his ears, Raph blinked a few times as he worked on processing and double processing that particular choice of words, “Was that supposed to be a pun?”

“See, that response would have been better if I hadn’t already explained it.” 

“You’re weird, you know that?”

“Thank you, mutant turtle soldier person. I appreciate that.”

Raph chuckled. “Your dad was weird, too.”

Hearing that, Tony, who’d been walking ahead, stopped short. “How well did you know my dad?”

“Well, he saved my life. And he sort of helped make me.”

Something hard and frosty around the edges of Tony’s eyes softened as he huffed out a laugh. “I guess you could say he helped make me, too. Looks like we have some common ground.” An idea popped into his head. Some of his thought process must have shown on his face, because Raph suddenly looked a tad apprehensive to be in his presence without witnesses. “Come on, kid." He ran off in the direction of his basement, expecting Raph to follow, "I’ve got something really cool I want to show you.”

 

_Hey… When do I get to rest?_

_The asset’s body is fully functioning. There is no need for rest._

_I know that. I’m not tired or hurt, but it’d be nice if I could sleep. I can’t remember the last time I did that._

_Sleep is unnecessary. A trivial concern. Unrelated to the mission. The mission is-_

_Imperative. You don’t have to remind me. I know what the mission is._

The plan was to reprogram the helicarriers with three chips. Change the targets. 

It was a good plan. Simple enough to remember, easy enough to carry out.

The first chip was inserted without a problem. Though Tony didn’t have time to build a turtle-shaped battle suit, he did manage to equip Raph with boots and gloves filled with repulsors. Though his first couple of tries were a disaster that took out a few walls and a car, “If that thing sprays me in the face again, I’m using it as a toothpick!” he eventually got enough of the hang of it to fly up to the helicarrier, knock out the guards with his blasters set to stun, and replace the chip. 

Donnie had similar luck on his end, though his comm link was turned off shortly after. 

Which just left Leo to have the worst luck in the world, because the second he broke in, who did he find waiting for him but Hydra’s best assassin?

“Hey… Mikey.” It took everything for him not to forget the mission. The chip bit into his hand, small and thin and ready to save the lives of billions of people.

_Target sighted._

“Listen to me, if you don’t let me go, billions of people are going to die.” He straightened, hardening his resolve to do what was necessary, though it wavered when he tried to imagine just what he’d ultimately have to do if the Winter Soldier refused to let him pass. Deep down, he wondered if ending his brother’s life to save the world was something he was even capable of. 

The sick, rotting feeling twisting in his stomach said he wasn’t. So it was a good thing a key element of plans A-Z consisted of never finding out.

_The target is running._

_I noticed._

Bullets punctured the metal floor of the hanging path he ran across to get to the helicarrier’s core, narrowly missing his legs. Sweat trickled down his back. He’d already pried open the core when a hook snagged the edge of the platform, bringing the Winter Soldier with it. 

He held the chip up, gaze flicking desperately to the open port and the ticking clock. He needed to take Mikey out without hurting him but there wasn’t any time! So he begged. “Please don’t make me do this. I know you don’t remember me, but that’s okay. Just stand down… and then we can all go home.”

_Mission: Kill Captain America._

_???_

Roaring, guttural and furious and lost, the soldier lashed out at him like a wild, frightened animal, swinging his synthetic arm with enough force to take Leo’s head off with a swipe. He ducked, shooting a concerned glance at the core that took the brunt of the blow, then jammed his shield into the space between their platforms in the hopes of severing the wires connecting them. 

All he needed was a few seconds.

Mikey’s leg slipped through the gap as the platform collapsed. While he scrambled to find purchase, Leo took advantage of the opportunity to find the right port and connect the drive with the new launch codes. It was with a sigh of relief that he saw the countdown grind to a halt. 

Then he was being lifted over the railing by his shoulders, moving too fast to think until his face collides with the helicarrier’s glass flooring and he can hear it cracking as he tries to stand and a wheeze escapes his lungs. 

Mikey landed hard, not more than a few feet in front of him. He should probably warn him about the glass, but connecting thoughts was getting a little harder to do with each new blow to the head. 

Then ice entered his stomach, piercing his plastron with a sharp sting. Leo glanced down to see his little brother staring with confusion at the knive he’d just shoved through him. “It’s okay, Mikey,” Leo said soothingly, ignoring the way his little brother flinched at his touch when he gently patted his head. And maybe Leo’s smile looked grim, but it definitely wasn’t. He hadn’t felt this happy in a long time. “It’s over. You don’t have to fight, anymore. I’m not going to hurt you.”

_Mission Status: Incomplete._

He looked up, hoping that somehow all of the love he felt bubbling inside him would reach his little brother, that he didn’t – would never blame him for anything. “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, little brother.” 

_Mission Status: Incomplete._

The glass shattered beneath their combine weight, sending them both plummeting to the earth. With the last dregs of his consciousness, Leo desperately reached for Mikey’s hand. “…m…ikey…” 

_Mission Stat- ajdhskjdfh_

_You know what? Bite me._

 

It didn’t take much to drag the turtle in the blue mask out of the water. His condition was worrying, though. He’d been seriously wounded in their battle, and pond scum never mixed well with injuries. 

After debating for several seconds whether any further involvement on his part was necessary, he fired off a flare into the sky. It’d get the captain's reinforcements there fast enough to lower his chances of infection down to an acceptable degree. 

He crouched low in the bushes, grinding his teeth when one of the target’s – turtle’s brothers flew over his chosen hiding spot, aided by what could only be Stark tech. It was working, after all. Instinct told him he couldn’t be spotted yet, so he burrowed deeper into the underbrush, waiting patiently for his chance to leave without detection. 

The tall mutant in the purple mask, the one who’d first called him by name, the one who’d turned into a rampaging beast – threat?? - limped towards the other two. There was a grim expression on his face, blood trailing around the edges of his mouth, but he suspected the blood did not belong to the turtle. 

The wind changed. A snatch of conversation drifted towards him on a gust that shook the leaves around him. “… he got away… not all of him, though,” a short, repeated sound followed the statement. Similar to a cough. Breathier. “… is Leo… we should… but what about…”

"We're not..." He didn’t catch the rest of the red masked turtle’s reply, but took note of the way it strengthened the taller mutant’s resolve, finding as he did that the edges of his mouth lifted simultaneously. It felt strange. Not unpleasant. Just… odd.

 

After three days, Leo woke up in a hospital bed, surrounded by balloons and flowers, with Don draped over his legs, sleeping off his own injuries. Raph looked up from the book he was reading and grinned. “Good to see you're awake, bro. We were starting to worry.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Leo grunted as he pushed his upper torso into a more comfortable position, careful not to move his legs, “ You know I always find a way to pull through, somehow.”

“Not this time,” and something about the way he said drew Leo’s attention, “there were drag marks on that bank we found you beached on. Someone dragged you out.”

Hope swelled in Leo’s chest, pressing up against his raw nerves, too large to deflate even if he’d wanted to. “ You think Mikey saved me?”

“Who else?” 

A low groan startled them. Once they noticed Don rubbing the grogginess out of his eyes, they shared a relaxed grin. “Hey, bro,” Leo said when Don was sitting upright, “did we wake you?”

“No.” He shook his head, clearing it. “I was getting ready to wake up, anyway.” 

Probably, they should have called for a nurse the moment Leo woke up, but their room was private, reserved only for them and any friends they’d managed to forge in fire. Of course, this meant April, Irma, Casey, and even Tony Stark periodically visited. 

The director would have, but walking around visiting patients in hospitals didn’t mesh well with the necessity of lying low. Hydra was still out for his blood. Their most recent failure would only make them all the more determined to eliminate him. 

Still, it wasn’t hard to puzzle out who’d left the beautifully crafted katana by Leo’s bedside, with the note: _She’d have wanted you to have this - Y._

Before long, it was time to leave. It was when they were they were walking back towards the car Stark had loaned out to them – not that he’d given them much of a choice – that they caught sight of a dark mass lurking on the backseat.

Sais and shield and staff came out of their sheaths, each ready to deflect, to defend against anything that would try to separate them again. Then an odd look passed over Don’s face at the same time Leo realized that he hadn’t actually sensed a threat. That didn’t stop him from hissing at Donnie to _Get back here!_ when he trotted up to the car, yanked open the door with enough force to bend the handle, and allowed them all to clearly see just who it was that was hitching a ride in their car. 

Outside of his armor, the soldier was thinner than they remembered. He was curled up, his legs drawn up to his chest, his brow furrowed in an uneasy dream. 

Being sure to move as slowly and silently as possible, Don edged into the open space his brother wasn’t covering, hesitated for a moment with his hand over his brother’s forehead, the desire to comfort him warring with his fear of going too far, took quickly. Then Mikey nestled closer, resting his head against Donnie’s thigh, and Don gave a warm, watery smile. 

Everything had felt off, wrong, since he woke up to a world he didn't belong in, with the new, frightening knowledge that he was a monster digging its claws into his brain, since Leo returned from a mission one brother short and Donnie couldn’t remember the last thing he’d said, but he was sure it wasn’t meaningful, it wasn't how much he loved Mikey, how happy he was that they were brothers, because no one said those things, really. Not until it was too late. 

And now Mikey wasn’t ready to hear those things. He’s quivering and fragile like a baby bird, and there’ll be plenty of things for them to work through in the future. But the important thing was that they had one. 

So Donnie held back. “Don’t worry. You can sleep for as long as you need. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to let _anyone_ hurt you,” he whispered for Mikey’s ears only. It was a dream and a wish and a promise all wrapped into one. It was a shield.

Sometime later, once they were on the road and had put a few miles between them and the hospital, a quiet voice rasped out, “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who followed this story and encouraged me to continue! And thank you, commenters. This story never would have made it past chapter 1 without you.


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